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SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

Sherry and Tad in a 
Belgian Boarding-School 




t 

t 




She proceeded to open our trunks and overturn the con- 
tents WITH A COOLNESS THAT WE FOUND PERFECTLY 
MADDENING.— Pa^e 23 . 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

SHERRY AND TAD IN A BELGIAN 
BOARDING-SCHOOL 


BY 

REBECCA MTODLETON SAMSON 

n 


ILLUSTRATED BY CLARA OLMSTEAD / 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 




Published, Aug^t, 1917 



Copyright, 1917 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co, 




All rights reserved 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 



SEP -7 191? ^ 

A 


IRorwoob prc05 

BERWICK & SMITH CO 

NORWOOD, MASS. 

U. S. A. 



©CI.A47H364 ^ 


Vo V- . 


THE SCHOOLMATES 

— Belgian, British, American 

WHO SHARED THESE DAYS 









CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

I We Arrive ii 

II Disillusions 21 

III Our First Evening 37 

IV Our Wings Are Clipped . . *55 

V An Eventful Day 66 

VI We Are Introduced to Great Brit- 
ain 76 

VII A Repetition 102 

VIII A Day AT THE DE Mirons’ . . .114 

IX Sylvia De Brooke 130 

X Elizabeth Confides 140 

XI The Sixth of December — and 

More 152 

XII School Reopens 166 

XIII I Make a Move 181 

XIV Checkmated 189 

XV An Interesting Arrival . . .201 

XVI An Unpleasant Adventure ^ — and 

THE Rest of It 215 

XVII I Meet Mon Amie 238 

XVIII Mystery 246 

XIX Laurice in a New Role . . . .255 

XX Tania La Chapelle 269 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXI The Ghost of the Infirmary Cor- 
ridor 279 

XXII Laurice Confides . ... . 289 

XXIII The Godmother 303 

XXIV I Make a Bold Move 317 

XXV Laurice Receives an Invitation . 332 

XXVI Laurice Returns 344 

XXVII A Ruptured Friendship .... 355 

XXVIII Fete de la Directrice 368 

XXIX Reconciliation 380 

XXX I Meet Godmother 390 

XXXI Fate Decides 408 

XXXII La Grande Distribution .... 428 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


She proceeded to open our trunks and over- 
turn THE CONTENTS WITH A COOLNESS 
THAT WE FOUND PERFECTLY MADDENING 

(Page 23) Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

In response to Pat’s hospitable Come on, 

GIRLS ! ” 98 

Ah. te voilaF' she merrily piped at sight 
OF ME 302 

Swiftly and lightly out we crept from the 

SUFFOCATING BLACKNESS 360 

“ Here she is ! ” . . 390 

Au revoir! . 442 



SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

SHERRY AND TAD IN A BELGIAN 
BOARDING-SCHOOL 

CHAPTER I 

WE ARRIVE 

♦‘X SNT it horrid! So big and cold — and fright- 
I fully clean ! my sister Tad leaned over my 
shoulder to confide in a shivery whisper. 

“IPs lovely!’" I shivered back. “Just what it 
ought to be ! I’m delighted ! ” 

Just how we two American girls, Adelaide Louise 
Monroe and myself, Sherida Anne Monroe, happened 
at that moment to be seated in the drawing-room of a 
young ladies’ boarding-school of Brussels in Belgium, 
is a story long enough and important enough of itself 
to make a whole book. 

I think this is a good place to explain that Tad’s 
nickname had grown up with her as her own infan- 
tile contraction of Adelaide, and that my real name 
was Sheridan, so called in compliment to a doting old 
great-uncle who little suspected how unhappy I was to 

II 


12 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


be burdened with so ridiculous a name, which, upon 
reaching the age of reason, I promptly feminized to 
“ Sherida/' But my friends called me Sherry, and 
Sherry I expect I shall be to the end of my days. 

Tad and I were wild to go to a foreign boarding- 
school. Merely to put one's foot upon the shores of 
Europe was a glorious distinction, but to go there to 
boarding-school was Paradise. 

Why, Edna Bassett, a girl of Miss Percival's where 
Tad and I were day pupils, spent six weeks in Italy, 
and when she came back she said our head music mas- 
ter, who had been a pupil of Liszt's, was awfully out 
of date, and boldly declared that Americans didn't 
know the A B C of art. 

And another girl, whom we had never considered 
anybody, returned after traveling three months on the 
Continent, so transformed that she immediately became 
the most important girl in the whole school. The 
clothes this girl wore, the perfumes she used, the way 
she twisted her hair in imitation of a French count's 
daughter she met at a watering-place, w^ere all of en- 
trancing interest to me as being permeated with the 
atmosphere of Europe; and an old penholder she gave 
me, though the end was chewed to shreds and the tip 
corroded with ink, I prized as a thing of glory because 
it had come from abroad. 

But when Connie Clyde, my best friend, came home 
after spending one term in a Parisian convent, speak- 


WE ARRIVE 


13 


ing broken English, and calling herself Constance 
(accent hard on last syllable) Tad and I both felt it 
impossible to go on another day with our humdrum 
old life at Miss Percival’s. 

Then came a glorious piece of good luck. Made- 
moiselle Eugenie Touchard, teacher of classical litera- 
ture at Miss Percival’s, announced that the failing 
health of a widowed sister-in-law, who was directress 
of a fashionable pensionnat de demoiselles in the city 
of Brussels, had called her home to take charge of the 
school. 

This golden opportunity for Tad and me to enjoy 
a year of polishing off in a distinguished foreign school 
was eagerly pounced upon by our delighted mother 
and highly endorsed by Mademoiselle Touchard, who 
took us in charge and with a conscientiousness out of 
all proportion to our appreciation of it, made our trip 
one long reel of instructive information up to the very 
moment of landing us within the enchanted portals of 
the Pensionnat Van Pelt. 

Barely ten minutes had elapsed since we had pulled 
the clanging door-bell of the large white building that 
with its brick-walled garden spread the length of one 
side of a solemn white square; and the wooden-shod 
maid-servant, who had led us through a vaulted vesti- 
bule, across a marble corridor of tinted walls and 
gilded doors, up a shining red-carpeted stairway, and 
reverently ushered us into the stately drawing-room we 


14 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


then occupied, had just left us with the respectful ex- 
planation that madame la directrice had gone with her 
pupils on their noon walk, but would soon return. 

Tad and I, pending this critical moment, studied our 
strange surroundings with eager interest. The room, 
which was an imposing square with a dreadfully high 
ceiling, was far different from our idea of what the 
drawing-room of a fashionable boarding-school should 
be. 

A thin red drugget covered the center of the pol- 
ished floor, and the ponderous casement-windows of fig- 
ured glass through which one could see neither in nor 
out, were shadeless and shone with the pale glitter of 
sheet ice. The straight-legged chairs and stiff-backed 
sofas were upholstered in a cold and slippery leather 
of a murky red, and the wall-paper was of a chilly 
gray, marked off in panelings of a darker shade in 
which were set brass sconces holding wax candles. 

Facing us a pair of window-doors opened upon a 
marble terrace from which sloped a garden full of 
trees and birds and sunshine, and from where I sat I 
glimpsed winding pathways, a summer-house, and be- 
yond, a stone wall — all buried in masses of foliage 
just turning to the loveliest shades of red and yellow 
and brown. 

This is a most interesting old house, young ladies,” 
Mademoiselle Touchard proceeded to enlighten us. 

It was built nearly three hundred years ago by one 


WE ARRIVE 


15 


of the great burgomasters of the city and is to-day 
practically unchanged. The garden is the same, and 
some of the attics and cellars have never been 
thoroughly explored.’' 

Could anything be more thrillingly romantic than 
this? 

The stillness surrounding us was so deep and pro- 
longed that one could almost hear the fall of the leaves 
softly fluttering to the marble terrace outside, and 
Tad and I were becoming restless under the strain, 
when a sharp clang of the big front-door bell gave our 
nerves a painful jog. 

They were still unpleasantly tingling when the door 
of the room opened and in walked two ladies in street 
costume (mother and daughter, no doubt), who passed 
us with polite bows to seat themselves near a window 
overlooking the garden. 

The older lady, who was not at all old, was a mag- 
nificent blonde whose pink and white face, fashionably 
framed in pale yellow hair, was entrancingly beautiful, 
and whose rich toilet of sables and velvet gave her 
the air of a queen. The girl, who looked every bit of 
eighteen, was tall and slender, with a thin dark face, 
very dark eyes, pathetic in their expression of sadness, 
and the proudest mouth I ever saw — almost scornful 
in the unsmiling droop of its short upper lip. 

She was dressed in simple black, with nothing to 
detract from its somberness save a long curling plume 


i6 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


drooping from her small velvet turban, and a bunch 
of pale violets thrust in the bosom of her rough walk- 
ing-jacket. But she was an aristocrat from the crown 
of her nobly poised head to the sole of her delicately 
arched foot, and I longed to know her with an eager- 
ness that surprised even myself. 

They were plainly visitors, awaiting like ourselves 
the arrival of the directress, and the restless impatience 
of the mother at the delay showed itself in a faint 
scowling of her large blue eyes, a nervous tapping of 
her dainty shoe-tip, and the frequent consulting of a 
jeweled watch that nestled among her scented furs. 

The girl, meanwhile, sat motionless before the long 
window with her dark eyes fixed in mournful contem- 
plation of the quiet old garden. The haunting sad- 
ness of those eyes awoke in me deepest interest and 
pity, and while planning, should this girl be or become 
a pupil, to make her my friend and know her trouble, 
I saw the mother, with an imperative Viens! to the 
daughter, presently arise to depart. 

As they repassed us on their way out, Mademoiselle 
Touchard politely offered the information, ‘‘Madame 
la dir ec trice sera bi entot de retoiirf* 

“ We will return,’Hhe mother replied without pause 
in her hurried exit, but the daughter, f6llowing at a 
slower pace, received the courtesy with an acknowledg- 
ing inclination, and as she did so, our glances met. It 


WE ARRIVE 


17 

was only a flash — keen interest on my side, startled 
surprise on hers. But it was recognition. 

Scarce five minutes after their departure a violent 
jangling of the door-bell went crashing through the 
house, and Tad, who, daring creature that she was, had 
been entertaining herself at one of the big front win- 
dows by peering between the intricacies of the figured 
glass, gestured frantically to me to come over quick. 

I darted to her side, and, gluing my eye to the spot 
at which in her zeal she had banged my head, I found 
myself looking down upon a long line of black-robed 
girls who, in soldierly order of two by two, stood wait- 
ing on the sidewalk. 

I was greatly impressed by the appearance of these 
girls, the sober uniformity of whose black dresses, 
jackets, and little round felt hats, made our rich velvet- 
trimmed costumes suddenly seem garish and out of 
place, and in a sort of terror I noticed how beautifully 
these girls held themselves, how serious they were, 
how silent. 

Then the long line moved slowly forward, and Tad 
and I hurried back to the sofa beside Mademoiselle 
Touchard to await the moment so long desired, yet so 
dreaded. 

We heard the swift rush of many feet, the subdued 
hum of many voices, the closing of distant doors, the 
clanging of distant bells. Then came a sudden quiet- 


i8 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


ness, during which a wing of the shining-white door 
Tad and I sat expectantly watching was softly opened, 
and a figure tall, slender, black-robed, with a sweet 
pale face framed in bands of dark wavy hair, came 
into the room. With joyful cries of ‘‘ Marie! Eu- 
genie ! ” she and Mademoiselle Touchard rushed into 
each other’s arms. 

Madame Van Pelt welcomed Tad and me smilingly, 
kissed us upon each cheek, and in charmingly halting 
English said that she knew we should become pupils 
to do her honor, and that she had two other cheres 
demoiselles americaines in the school who, she was 
sure, would be most happy to make of us the ac- 
quaintance.” 

Greatly cheered by this agreeable information. Tad 
and I followed down the beautiful red-carpeted stair- 
way to a snug little apartment opening off the grand 
corridor of marble and gilt. Here in this pleasant 
room hung with stiff yellow brocade, where a grate 
fire crackled softly and cast tiny reflections of itself 
in the gilded chairs and polished floor, we removed 
our wraps and presently were served with a delightful 
little luncheon of hot chocolate, crisp rolls, a savory 
omelette, and, for dessert, little buttery, sugary, criss- 
cross wafers so scrumptiously good that Tad jogged 
me under the table to whisper, to my terror lest she be 
overheard, ‘‘Aren’t they just the jolliest!” 

During the luncheon Madame Van Pelt asked in a 


WE ARRIVE 


19 


friendly way if the demoiselles spoke French, and as 
she was looking directly at me when she put the ques- 
tion, and the fishy green eyes of Mademoiselle Tou- 
chard were fixed upon me with expectant severity, I 
hurriedly responded with an embarrassed, ''' Un petit, 
madame/' 

The moment I had spoken I knew that I should have 
said Un pen/' and though Madame Van Pelt, with a 
kindly pat and laugh, made light of my stammering 
correction. Mademoiselle Touchard shook her ugly red 
head at me with a gravity that overwhelmed me with 
humiliation and entirely took away my appetite for 
more g alettes which the kind directrice was pressing 
upon me. 

After luncheon. Mademoiselle Touchard suggested 
that Tad and I might be glad to meet our schoolmates, 
so Madame Van Pelt, affectionately clasping a hand of 
each, led us away into the white-and-gold corridor. 

Here our trunks were standing, disfiguring blots 
upon the pavement of black-and-white marble, and 
upon sight of them Madame Van Pelt, who had been 
regarding us in a puzzled sort of way, motioned to us 
to remain where we were, and, pushing open a heavy 
swing-door that creaked protestingly on stiff hinges, 
disappeared. 

Alone for the first time since we had left home, 
Tad and I felt woefully desolate and forsaken. The 
sight of the trunks about which clustered tenderest 


20 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


memories of all that we had left, the strains floating 
to us of a Chopin nocturne much practised at Miss 
Percival’s, and, above all, the despairing reflection that 
we were in Europe, thousands of miles from those we 
loved, imprisoned for a long year in a foreign board- 
ing-school, swept over us with crushing force. 

What did we do? Lift our voices in a song of re- 
joicing that we at last had landed at the summit of our 
desires? Alas, no! We plumped ourselves down on 
top of the biggest trunk, brought forth our handker- 
chiefs, buried our faces in their crumply folds — and 
wept! 


CHAPTER II 


DISILLUSIONS 

F ootsteps approaching caused Tad and me to 
hurriedly mop our eyes and stuff our handker- 
chiefs into our pockets, and barely had we done 
this when again the swing-door protestingly squeaked 
and Madame Van Pelt reappeared, accompanied by 
two tall, slim girls stylishly dressed in black. 

** Vos compatriotes! I leave you to make of your- 
selfs the acquaintance,” was madame's brief introduc- 
tion as she hastened away. 

“ Our name is Gardner. My venerable sister here, 
who has passed by eighteen months the spot ‘ where 
the brook and river meet,' is Elizabeth. I am Kath- 
erine, the baby of the family, aged sixteen years, three 
months, and five days. We're from New York City. 
Are you? '' was the lively speech of the taller of the 
two girls, a handsome brunette with a brilliant com- 
plexion. 

We replied that we came from a city farther west 
than New York, and after telling our names and giv- 
ing a few essential details of family history, we all 
became the best of friends. 


21 


22 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


** Oh, we’re so glad you’re Americans ! We’ve been 
the only Americans in the school for so long that it’s 
just splendid to have somebody from our own coun- 
try to keep us company ! ” announced the starry-eyed 
Elizabeth, who, while possessing none of her sister’s 
dash and sparkle, was by far the loveliest creature I 
had ever seen. 

** Oh, girls, girls, what wouldn’t I give to see dear 
old America again! You don’t know how I’m longing 
for a good old-fashioned dish of pork and beans with 
Boston brown bread smoking hot ! ” Katherine yearn- 
ingly cried. 

“ Buckwheat cakes and country sausage ! ” Elizabeth 
murmured with a rapturous uplifting of her soulful 
eyes. 

“ Codfish balls and boiled potatoes I ” Katherine 
sighed. 

‘‘ Molasses peppermints and peanut taf — ” Eliza- 
beth began, to be cut short by an energetic shove of 
the swing-door that gave entrance to an individual 
whom the two Gardners greeted with a dismayed, 
‘‘Old Prowler!” 

“ Otherwise known as Mademoiselle Julie, the 
housekeeper! She’s come to attend to the unpacking 
of your trunks ! ” Katherine explained. 

The housekeeper was squat of figure, with a sallow 
complexion, poppy black eyes, and oily black hair piled 
in a braided cushion on top of her head and surmounted 


DISILLUSIONS 


23 


by a huge black-ribbon bow whose stiff ends bristled 
unpleasantly about her ears. A black bombazine dress, 
white crocheted collar fastened with a hair brooch, and 
gold earrings with long tasseled pendants, completed 
a costume of unbecoming simplicity. 

The housekeeper appeared to be a most unamiable 
person, full of fussy activity, and when, in compliance 
with a request which the Gardners advised us to obey, • 
Tad and I handed over to her our keys, she proceeded 
to open our trunks and overturn the contents with a 
coolness that we found perfectly maddening. Every 
smallest object was taken out, felt of, and peered into, 
until the marble pavement was littered with our prop- 
erties. 

She’s searching for sweetmeats, jewelry, novels, 
and like pernicious objects liable to contaminate the 
health or the morals of the young ladies of the Pen- 
sionnat Van Pelt,” said Katherine, who appeared to be 
hugely entertained by the discomfiture of Tad and me. 

“ But what’s the matter with those books ? ” I hotly 
asked, pointing to my Bible and hymnal, laid aside dur- 
ing this separation of the sheep from the goats. 

** All Greek to our dear Julie, who doesn’t know Eng- 
lish from Chinese,” laughed Katherine, whose non- 
sense the gentle Elizabeth interrupted with a soothing : 

‘‘ You’ll get everything back when you leave. Old 
Prowler is only doing her duty.” 

‘‘ My private journal with all my secret thoughts ! ” 


24 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Tad howled with a frantic clutch toward a bulky 
volume of red morocco tied with blue ribbon, which 
Mademoiselle Julie was guarding with a careful eye. 

Connie Clyde's letters, full of confidential things," 
I wailed at sight of a large box containing the effusions 
of my chum during her sojourn in the Parisian con- 
vent — which display of agitation on my part caused 
the precious box to be placed immediately in quaran- 
tine with the goats. 

‘‘ What a pity, girls, that you brought such heaps 
of elegant dresses ! " Katherine bemoaned, glancing to- 
ward the great stack of browns and crimsons and 
blues that encumbered the floor. ‘‘ You know the rule 
here is black all the year round." 

‘‘ Mademoiselle Touchard took care that we should 
know all about the black uniform," Tad snapped with 
spiteful emphasis. ** We’re not going to escape." 

‘‘ Girls I " here ejaculated Katherine, to whom the 
housekeeper had been jabbering words impossible of 
comprehension. (The French these people spoke and 
the French I had learned at school didn’t seem the 
same language. ) ** Old Prowler says we’re to help 

you carry your things to the attic and she’ll follow to 
find you closet room." 

As Mademoiselle Julie waddled off with her stuff 
apron bulging with spoils, Elizabeth and Katherine be- 
gan heaping their arms with clothing and calling to 
Tad and me to do the same. 


DISILLUSIONS 


25 

** You mustn’t look for luxuries like elevators in a 
foreign boarding-school or a foreign anything/' 
Katherine merrily informed us. Our method here 
of handling baggage is to be recommended for keeping 
the blood in circulation ; you carry your own things up- 
stairs, and the more you carry at once the less trips 
you’ll have to make.” 

Tad and I, in much disgust, loaded ourselves to the 
ears, and had just turned to pursue our weary way 
up the shining red-carpeted stairs, when we were 
startled by Elizabeth and Katherine calling to us in an 
agitated duo: ‘‘Girls! Girls!’ You mustn’t go up 
those stairs ! ” 

“ Why, that’s the way we went up this morning! ” 
I retorted round the corner of a hat-box that was 
piercing my mouth. 

“ Oh, this morning you were visitors and now 
you’re pupils ! ” was Katherine’s illuminating reply. 

Then, as we gingerly backed our way down the few 
steps we had mounted, she held open the creaking 
swing-door, and with a grandiose air of mockery pro- 
claimed : “ Henceforth this domain of marble and 

gilt knows you no more on a footing of equality. Pass 
on into the scholastic regions where the young ladies 
of the Pensionnat Van Pelt ‘ live and move and have 
their being.’ ” 

The squeaking door swung to behind us — giving me 
a smart whack on the back for not moving faster — 


26 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


and Tad and I found ourselves in a narrow passage- 
way whose calcimined walls of white-gray were 
smudged with finger-marks and crisscrossed with pen- 
ciled names. The wooden floor was worn to the slip- 
pery hardness of stone, and the atmosphere of the 
dingy place was close with a strange sour, soupy smell, 
which the Gardners said was foreign stew, and which 
from that day forth has remained in my mind as the 
characteristic odor of a foreign boarding-school. 

Ragout de hoeuf d la sauce aigre is served here 
three times a week, so you won’t miss your share of 
the delectable compound,” Elizabeth mischievously ob- 
served. 

Katherine, who was in advance, pushed open a door 
to one side of the tiny passageway and ushered us 
down a step into a big barracks of a place lined with 
long tables varnished a shiny wood-red. 

The refectoire where three times daily we congre- 
gate to feed on fare that is filling and, alas, too often 
unbecomingly fattening,” Katherine announced with 
a gesture as sweeping as her burdened arms would 
permit. 

At the extreme end of the big room a girl, dressed 
like the Gardners in simple black, sat at a piano prac- 
tising difficult finger-exercises with the most fascinat- 
ing agility. She stood up when we entered, and, as 
we passed her, faced about and made us the most beau- 
tiful bow — not an offhand bob of the head, but a slow, 


DISILLUSIONS 


27 

deep inclination from the waist, such as a Sir Wal- 
ter Raleigh might make to a Queen Elizabeth. 

She was an unusually pretty girl. Her face, which 
was childishly full with a pretty touch of prominence 
about the cheek-bones, was pink and white as a flower, 
and her shining braids of golden-blonde hair were 
coiled becomingly round her head, Greek fashion. 
And so extremely polite was this young lady that she 
remained standing with modestly lowered eyelids until 
we passed out of the room and closed the door upon 
her. 

“ Rather an overpowering salutation to the likes of 
us,'* I sighed in relief when out of hearing. 

“ The foreigners always bow in that grand way to 
strangers, and it's one of the first things you'll have 
to learn to do here," Katherine informed us. 

“ Claire de Miron has especially beautiful manners," 
Elizabeth remarked, her dark eyes glowing softly as 
she spoke. “ I'm sorry I couldn't introduce you to 
her, but it's against the rules to disturb a pupil at prac- 
tice. Don't you think Claire lovely ? " 

“ Elizabeth thinks there's nobody like Claire de 
Miron, though she's a whole year younger and is only 
in the second class," Katherine observed with a teasing 
glance at her sister. 

‘‘ Claire's not exactly a whole year younger, Kitty, 
and she's the best pupil in the school. She's had the 
prize for application two years now, and you know it's 


28 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


no small thing to get that here,” Elizabeth gently re- 
torted, with the loveliest crimson flaming her tender 
cheek. 

“ And more than that, Qaire plays the piano better 
than anybody else in the whole school,” Elizabeth added 
with a pretty little air of defiance. 

“ Oh, come now, Bess, that's going a little too far 
when you play so beautifully yourself,” was Kather- 
ine's reproachful rejoinder, which sisterly partiality 
Elizabeth received with a quiet smile. 

The refectoire opened into a small stone-paved 
carrS, with to one side a spindly stairway rising flight 
after flight. Up this steep and slender spiral Tad and 
I were invited to climb, and, as with our weary loads 
we stood propped against the railing of the third land- 
ing, pantingly to regain our breath, we were startled 
by the noisy bumping of some heavy object coming up 
the spiral stairs. 

“ Only one of your empty trunks being carried up 
by the maids,” the Gardners said, leaning to look over 
the slender balustrade. 

Tad and I looked, too, and were highly amused to 
see two strapping, wooden-shod peasant girls giggling 
hysterically in their efforts to force a big Saratoga up 
the narrow stairway. Mademoiselle Julie, jingling 
and puffing, clumped after, and soon had the lot of us 
busily at work in the attic. 

The attic was a big, clean, airy place lined with 


DISILLUSIONS 


29 


roomy closets where the girls kept their clothes, and the 
Gardners led us to a little round window in the gable 
through which Tad and I peered wonderingly down 
upon the white paving-stones of the quiet square below, 
and over across the queer-shaped roofs and fantastic 
chimney-pots of the city so strange to us. 

The fussy Mademoiselle Julie had considerable dif- 
ficulty in making our elaborate American outfit hang 
and fold with the trimness of the foreigners' unadorned 
belongings. But at last satisfied, she bundled us out of 
the attic, locked the door with an enormous brass key, 
and waddled off to delights elsewhere. 

Elizabeth and Katherine, who had been given a par- 
tial holiday to look after us, then brought us down into 
what they called the “ dormitory of the English." 

The dormitory of the English was a long, narrow 
apartment lighted at the end by a broad casement-win- 
dow and rows of smaller windows set high along the 
two side walls. These side walls were partitioned off 
into small curtained inclosures called by the Gardners 
chambrettes. Each one contained a tiny white bed, 
a washstand, and a low rush-bottom stool. 

“These chambrettes are certain to be yours," the 
Gardners announced, as they discovered, side by side, 
two of these curtained inclosures containing unmade 
beds. “ All the etrangires sleep in the dortoir des 
Anglaises” 

“If you sleep here you'll be next to two of the 


30 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


nicest girls in the school, Ailsie Dunmire and Pat 
Mack,” the comforting Elizabeth said in her gentle 
voice. 

‘‘ Ailsie is the niece of a great Scottish earl, and 
Pat Mack, whose real name is Patricia Margaret Mc- 
Dermott, is an Irish girl with the darlingest brogue,” 
Elizabeth further explained. 

“ Well, whoever you’re next to, be thankful it’s not 
Suky Sikes ! ” Katherine announced. 

“ Suky Sikes! What a name! Who is she?” 
Tad and I exclaimed. 

‘‘ She’s an English girl — a character ! One is 
-never quite sure whether she’s silly or just odd. You 
won’t be long in knowing Suky Sikes ! ” Elizabeth and 
Katherine laughed. 

‘‘ Where did she get her queer name ? ” I asked. 

Her real name is Susannah Uranice Katherine Yo- 
lande,” Katherine explained. “ But when she first 
came here a little girl, in her silly way she wouldn’t tell 
her name but just signed herself initials — S.U.K.Y. 
So the girls called her Suky and she’s gone by that 
name ever since.” 

** Poor old Suke ! She’s to be pitied ! ” Elizabeth 
said in her kindly way. “ She never goes home, no- 
body ever comes to see her, and she never gets letters 
or hampers like the other girls. All we know about 
her is that she’s an orphan and is taken care of by an 
old bachelor uncle.” 


DISILLUSIONS 


31 


Down the center length of the dormitory of the 
English ran the funniest toilet-table. It had tall, thin 
legs shapeless as broomsticks ; its top of stone, mottled 
red and white, resembled exactly a huge slice of bo- 
logna sausage, and upon this polished slab sat, for all 
the world like a lot of squatting pigeons, a long row of 
chunky little white pitchers and basins. 

The back of this odd table was as high as a fence, 
and was hung with small looking-glasses hideously 
framed in black papier-mache. 

Each one of these reflectors was a horror worse 
than the other. Some were dim, as though breathed 
upon by a pernicious mist. Some were little better 
than bits of blurred tin. Some reflected light with 
the nauseating effect of quivering sea- water. Some 
were seamed and blotched, as though with a blighting 
eruption. One was a sunburst of fractures, as if it 
had been viciously struck — probably with the back 
of a hair-brush in some indignant hand. And all dis- 
torted the countenance out of all resemblance to hu- 
manity. The tints, too, of these awful things added 
to the nightmarish effect. Ghastly whites, weird 
blues, spooky greens, and sickly yellows were the hues 
to choose from. 

“ They're not so bad when you get used to them," 
said Elizabeth, who, with a comb filched from the 
toilet-box of an English girl, was calmly fluffing her 
front hair before a reflector that gave her a complexion 


32 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


of mottled tan, two noses at different angles, a row 
of tusk-like greenish-hued teeth, and a pair of dread- 
fully crossed eyes. 

Tad, whose tip-tilted nose was the bane of her ex- 
istence, found a glass that showed her nasal append- 
age as of most distinguished length. True, her rosy 
complexion was reflected as a purplish pink, one side 
of her round face was grotesquely twisted, and her 
forehead terminated in a horn capped with one vil- 
lainous eye. But, for the sake of what my sister 
called compensating effects, she was charmed. 

Oh, girls, while I think of it,’^ the bright voice 
of Katherine here interrupted, ‘‘when you come up- 
stairs at bedtime be sure you each grab a pitcher and 
basin to carry into your chambrette for safe-keeping.” 

“If you don’t you’ll find no water to wash with in 
the morning, unless you want to go down three flights 
to the courtyard to get it. No joke this weather — 
burr-r-r-rrr ! ” Elizabeth shuddered. 

Grab! Did these aristocratic foreign girls, whose 
manners Tad and I had come all the way from Amer- 
ica to imitate, grab for anything? Why, even Tad, 
who was not distinguished for polish of deportment, 
was shocked. 

But both Elizabeth and Katherine assured us that 
grabbing was our only protection against imposition, 
and with kindly forethought they placed two sets of the 
fullest jugs where Tad and I could take them with 


DISILLUSIONS 


33 


ease on our way to our chambrettes at bedtime. 

Our inspection of the dormitory over, Elizabeth and 
Katherine suggested seating ourselves on one of the 
empty beds, where, with a box of molasses pepper- 
mints unearthed from a handbag, we four Americans 
in a foreign boarding-school settled down for a cozy 
chat. 

If we’d known that you didn’t have such things 
in this country, we’d have brought you stacks,” Tad 
and I said in response to the Gardners’ information 
that chewing-gum, peanuts, and popcorn were un- 
known in this foreign land. 

‘‘ We’ve learned to do without a great many things 
that were dear to us,” Elizabeth sighed with an emo- 
tion that made her beautiful fawn-like eyes seem brim- 
ming with tears. 

“ Do you have much fun here ? ” was my first lead- 
ing question. 

“ The Belgians do, and the English, too, for all 
they’re too stiff-necked to admit it,” Katherine 
promptly explained. But Bess and I leave when 
school closes in August, so we don’t have time for 
much else but study.” 

‘‘ You know Kitty and I are day-boarders, which 
means that we’re not so much with the girls as the 
rest are,” Elizabeth added. 

‘‘ And another thing,” the merry Katherine chirped, 
“ Bess and I are a little bit in society, — theaters, din- 


34 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


ners, and maybe this winter a court ball, — so it 
wouldn’t do for us to be shut up in a boarding-school.” 

“Are you the only day-boarders?” I asked, think- 
ing of the sad-eyed girl I had met in the salon. 

“ The only ones,” Elizabeth replied with disappoint- 
ing finality. “ Madame Van Pelt is not partial to 
demi-pensionnaires/' 

The Gardners then explained that they had come to 
Brussels through the influence of an old friend of their 
grandmother’s, whose husband had held a Belgian 
government position. 

“ Grandmama’s friend educated all her daughters 
here,” Elizabeth explained, “ so when papa died four 
years ago grandmama persuaded mama that it was 
her duty to educate Katherine and me in Brussels. So 
here we are.” 

Before Tad and I had a chance to explain how it 
happened that we too were here, a big bell somewhere 
down-stairs clappered out three heavy strokes, and 
Elizabeth and Katherine jumped up, exclaiming: 
“Monsieur Fiersage, the professor of literature! 
We’ve got to go! Next bell is dinner! Wait here 
for us!” 

The Gardners had been gone hours, it seemed to 
poor Tad and me seated in dreary loneliness upon the 
unmade bed of the cheerless little chambrette, and 
the dortoir was dim with dusk, when the big bell down- 


DISILLUSIONS 


35 

stairs again clappered, this time merrily, as though 
the ringer were dancing for joy. 

The bell was still ringing when the dortoir door 
burst open, and in rushed a whirlwind of chattering 
creatures, who, with furious energy, proceeded to 
splash water and bang about brushes and combs, while 
above the din could be heard a monotonous English 
voice exclaiming at monotonous intervals : Less 

noise, young ladies ! No talking, young ladies ! Make 
haste, young ladies ! ” 

Tad and I crouched low behind the sheltering par- 
titions and drew closer the muslin curtains, in a shrink- 
ing dread of being seen by these boisterous intruders 
whose rude caperings threatened each moment to 
throw them in upon us. 

‘‘ Ailsie ! Patricia ! the monitor suddenly called. 

Where are you going? ’’ 

‘‘ To find out if the new girls are going to sleep in 
here,” a voice of charmingly soft intonation answered. 

“ The young ladies are probably resting. You will 
make their acquaintance at the proper time. To 
ranks ! ” the one in authority sharply commanded. 

And the tornado whirled itself out as precipitately 
as it had whirled itself in. 

Tad was a poet, though one never would suspect 
this of so frivolous a creature. She was perpetually 
writing verse, — sad, serious, sentimental, but mostly 


36 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


sad, — and as we settled down after that bunch of 
horrid girls was gone, she scratched off the following, 
without pause for a single word : 

We’ve got to stay the whole year out, 

So ’twill not do to rage and pout. 

We’ll study hard, we’ll do our best, 

And then go home to a lifetime of rest. 

Then came the Gardners to take Tad and me under 
their friendly protection. 


CHAPTER III 


OUR FIRST EVENING 

I .EVERYBODY'S in the refectoire, but we 
thought you’d rather wait than go down with 
the crowd,” the Gardners chatted on our way 
down the winding stairs. 

To our nervous and excited senses the long refec- 
toire seemed a veritable sea of black-robed figures 
capped with a whitey blur of faces turned expect- 
antly in our direction as we made our hesitating en- 
trance as much concealed behind the slender Gardners 
as we could manage. 

And to make the situation yet more embarrassing, 
everybody was standing as though awaiting us, and 
then suddenly all these black uprights, in one concerted 
sweep, bent low, like jack-knives doubling up, and Tad 
and I, in a cold shock of terror, realized that we were 
being bowed to — saluted ” would better describe this 
ceremonious foreign obeisance. 

Madame Van Pelt, who stood in a stately, presiding 
sort of way at a side-center of one of the long tables, 
with Mademoiselle Touchard, also in a stately, presid- 
ing sort of way, standing next, smilingly beckoned to 
37 


38 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


US to advance, which I did so close to the protecting 
heels of the Gardners that the kind-hearted directrice 
let me sit with them. 

But for only this evening,” she said. To-mor- 
row you must take your place with the demoiselles 
beiges and speak with them the French, as is the regie 
of the pensionnat for all etrangeres ! '* 

I turned to make room beside me for Tad, and was 
amazed to find her gone, and still further amazed to 
hear Madame Van Pelt say, as she nodded and smiled 
in some direction behind my back : “ Remain with 

Tania if you prefer. Mademoiselle Adelaide. Vous 
etes en bonne compagnief* 

Just like my sister Tad to take herself off in this in- 
dependent way! 

I had remarked to the Gardners during our after- 
noon conversation that I thought the Belgian girls had 
the loveliest manners — those that I had met passing 
back and forth through the halls — and the Gardners 
had replied, ‘‘ Sometimes,” with a laughing glance be- 
tween themselves that I thought very puzzling. 

But now I began to understand, for no sooner were 
we seated and Madame Van Pelt had given the signal 
for conversation, than those girls burst into an uproar 
that for noise was like the outburst of a Niagara. You 
just couldn’t hear yourself speak for their chattering, 
and when they laughed, which was continually, they 
threw back their heads, opened their mouths, and 


OUR FIRST EVENING 


39 

roared and squealed, and ha-ha-ha-ed like a lot of jolly 
boys. 

On a par with their noise were their gesticulations. 
They pounded on the table with whatever came to 
their hands, let their arms fly regardless, shook their 
fists in one another's faces, snapped their fingers, and 
said Pfitt ! " and ‘‘ Chutt ! " and hissed and spluttered 
and gurgled horrid noises in their throats, in a way 
that made one think they were in frenzies of rage. 
But not at all, said the Gardners. This was the or- 
dinary everyday Belgian schoolgirl fashion of convers- 
ing. 

And the pranks those girls played! Their idea of 
fun seemed to be mischievous practical jokes. They 
filched one another’s titbits, salted their wine, peppered 
their bread, and one girl through half the meal pre- 
vented another girl from getting a drink by jogging 
her elbow every time she lifted her glass, both girls 
almost toppling over from laughing. 

And, oh, the amazing appetites of the creatures! 
Three generous helpings many of them had, and not 
only devoured every morsel each time, but polished 
their plates with crusts of bread until they shone like 
glass. 

I didn’t much care for the dinner. The soup was 
thick with an herb that looked like chopped parsley and 
tasted like sour grass, and there was a course of boiled 
sausage served with red cabbage stewed sour and then 


40 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


sweetened in a way very unpleasant to my American 
taste. 

‘‘ You’ll eat things by and by when you’re hungry,” 
the Gardners informed me for my comfort. When 
we first came here we couldn’t bear soupe verte and 
choux rouge” 

Worse yet than the foreign dinner were the foreign 
chairs. They were the awfulest. The hard round 
seats were little larger than dinner plates; the spindly, 
wide-spreading legs were rungless; and the V-shaped 
backs that caught one just across the shoulder blades, 
instead of receding with a comfortable slope, inclined 
forward at an angle that compelled one to sit rigidly 
upright or else topple over flat on one’s nose. 

“ Press yourself well against the back and then you 
won’t fall off,” the sympathetic Elizabeth advised. 
“ After a while you become expert and don’t have to 
think about it.” 

One was long in becoming expert, for girls on every 
side were continually shooting out of sight under the 
tables, with the treacherous little chairs clattering 
viciously in their wake. But the catastrophe disturbed 
nobody, for the victims picked themselves up and re- 
sumed occupations without causing a head to turn or 
the animated chattering to flag. 

“Roll call! Now look out for some fun!” 
the Gardners announced, as, napkins folded and si- 
lence enjoined, Madame Van Pelt, with an impres- 


OUR FIRST EVENING 


41 


sive air of solerrinity, brought out a big black book. 

Roll call certainly was entertaining. Madame Van 
Pelt would pronounce a name and up would bob a 
girl, who, at a furious steam-engine rate, would reel 
off an account of her day’s doings. 

To her feet then would rise a governess, who, in 
language forcible and indignant, would flatly contra- 
dict the pupil’s report of exemplary conduct. And the 
injured innocent, with dramatic gestures and the splen- 
did emphasis of virtue enraged, would shout : U in- 
justice criante! Mechancete insupportable!*^ And 
Madame Van Pelt, horribly shocked and very stern, 
would enter in the big black book, against the girl’s 
name, a row of black marks for '' des maniires pen 
distingue es’* 

Des manieres peu distinguees is considered the 
worst of crimes by the foreigners,” Katherine Gardner 
whispered at my back with a soft stealthiness that 
was very distinguished. 

The English girls, of whom there seemed to be a 
number, gave their reports with an injured aggressive- 
ness that caused the directrice several times to call 
them sharply to order ; and one big bold Britisher, with 
big bold blue eyes and a big bold voice, was sent out 
of the refectoire because the governess who repudi- 
ated her report of conduite tres distinguee/* she con- 
tradicted with an insolent: '‘Nong! Pardong! 
Paddy toot impolly! Jammy dee lee vee! ” 


42 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Few Britishers are strong on the purity of French 
accent, but of them all Emily Glover is the worst,” 
was Katherine’s laughing confidence. 

Where’s Suky Sikes? ” I asked, when the big book 
was closed and I had seen nothing of the notorious 
Suky for whom I long had been on the alert. 

“ She’s somewhere about but her name wasn’t called 
because she’s already lost her sortie. She often gets 
the whole of the twenty-five bad-mark limit per month 
in one day. Poor old Suke,” -Elizabeth gently com- 
miserated. 

Madame Van Pelt, meanwhile, had risen and taken 
her stand at one end of the room. Mademoiselle 
Touchard, with the elegance that, in spite of red hair, 
green eyes, and protruding teeth, gave her so striking 
an air of distinction, stationed herself at another au- 
thoritative post; and a snappy-eyed, lithe-figured gov- 
erness, whose every movement bespoke alert activity, 
hurried to plant herself in the doorway leading into 
the little stone carre of the winding stairs. 

The girls, miraculously transformed from noisy 
pranksters into extremely sober and dignified young 
ladies, had quietly spread themselves out into single 
file, and as each demoiselle passed .Madame Van Pelt 
she glided her left foot forward in a peculiar way and 
bowed low with a respectful Bon soir, madame.'' 

Arriving at the unctuously smiling Mademoiselle 
Touchard, she said Bon soir, mademoiselle '' with 


OUR FIRST EVENING 


43 


the same deferential inclination, and then passed slowly 
to the doorway where the black-browed guardian 
awaited. 

Here, under the glare of those scrutinous eyes, the 
young lady faced about, and then, with the most pains- 
taking deliberation, sank to the floor in a curtsy that 
was exactly like the ceremonious curtsies court ladies 
make to queens. 

Nobody hurried, or slurred over, or escaped, for 
Mademoiselle Touchard, though she smiled so gra- 
ciously, surveyed with an eagle eye (to speak in high 
metaphor), and the governess in the doorway never 
relaxed. 

‘‘ Not for long will you be excused from your 
reverence to make with the other demoiselles,'* was 
Madame Van Pelt's smiling remark to me when my 
turn came to say ''Bon soir/' 

Mademoiselle Touchard nodded approval and the 
monitor of the doorway in grim silence passed me on 
into the carre where I was promptly captured by the 
Gardners, who held me back to say : Wait until 

the girls have gone. We want to show you things." 

As I stood with the Gardners in the little carre 
watching the girls make their bows, I eagerly scanned 
each face that flitted past, hoping that I might see 
the one that had so awakened my sympathy and in- 
terest. 

Dark faces there were, light ones, merry ones, and 


44 SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

grave, but none with the pathetic appeal of the girl 
of the salon. 

She never came back,” I felt myself forced to ad- 
mit. “ Arrangements have been made doubtless to 
send her to some other school. I am sorry. I should 
like to have been a friend to her. I am sure she is 
in need of a friend. Why did she look so sad, I won- 
der. What could be her trouble? How disappointed 
I am not to be able to help her ! ” 

“ Come ! We are going to show you the grande 
classe where we study and prepare our lessons for the 
professors. You needn’t look for your sister. Tania 
La Chapelle has probably carried her off ! ” the Gard- 
ners were merrily chirping, as, girls and governesses 
gone, they pushed me across the carre to a large double 
door, one wing of which they threw open with a lively. 

La grande classe! ” 

In amazement I stared at the great barny place of 
murky-white walls, ink-bespattered floor, and hideous 
black desks and benches. 

“ How bare and ugly and dirty ! ” I wailed. 

Oh, things are perfectly clean when you look right 
into them,” was the Gardners’ easy reply. “ That 
color is just age.” 

‘‘ What ugly desks — like big black coal-boxes set 
upon broomsticks ! ” I groaned. 

‘‘ Not such uncomfortable old things after you get 
used to them,” Elizabeth pleasantly remarked. “ And 


OUR FIRST EVENING 


45 

lids that lift have their advantages when you want to 
whisper or take a sly nibble of chocolate.’' 

What makes them so black ? And why are they 
all gashed and pitted in that dreadful way? ” I asked. 

“ Much hacking with penknives and many coatings 
of rich tarry paint,” Katherine answered. “This 
school was seventy years old when Madame Van Pelt 
bought it with the original furnishings, and she’s had 
it over twenty years.” 

“ Do you mean those desks are nearly a hundred 
years old ? ” I gasped. 

“No age at all in a country invaded by Caesar,” was 
Katherine’s chirky retort. 

The Gardners then showed me where they sat in 
what they called the Premier CourSj which was to the 
left of the big chunky stove that divided the large room 
in half. 

“ The lower classes are on the other side — mostly 
Britishers,” Katherine said with an inflection not com- 
plimentary to “ mostly Britishers.” 

“ Oh, that reminds me ! ” Elizabeth suddenly ex- 
claimed. “Do you speak French? I never before 
thought to ask you.” 

“ I was in the highest class at Miss Percival’s and I 
got the gold medal last year for French conversation,” 
was my conceited reply. 

“ How lovely ! ” Elizabeth returned. “ Perhaps 
you’ll sit near us. There’s an empty seat just behind.” 


46 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Look out for the benches wherever you sit ! ” Kath- 
erine cautioned. “ The least thing tips them up, and 
over you go with a terrible whack ! The Belgian girls 
think that sort of thing great fun. But you won’t.” 

“ Belgian girls are not in the least as I imagined 
them,” was my disparaging reply. ** They seem so 
rough, so noisy.” 

“ Their veins don’t run skim-milk,” Katherine 
frankly admitted. “ They’re all mixed up with French 
and Spanish and Flemish, and other such hot-headed 
fighting people.” 

‘‘ They’re the best-natured, kindest-hearted things 
in the world,” Elizabeth generously praised. “ Come 
on,” she invited. Let’s go watch them dance in the 
salle de gymnastique. It’s lots of fun.” 

Tad, with an unexpectedness that made us jump, 
here bounced on the scene. 

‘‘ Where have you been all this time ? ” was my dis- 
approving question. 

** On the terrace with Tania La Chapelle,” Tad re- 
plied. She’s gone to her Italian lesson. She told 
me I’d find you here. 

“ And, oh. Sherry, what do you think ! ” Tad grabbed 
my arm in a delirious clutch to rattle off in one excited 
breath : ‘‘ Tania’s name and mine begin with the same 

initial ! And our ages are the same ! Isn’t it wonder- 
ful ! Her mother’s a Greek lady of noble family and 
her father’s a Frenchman exiled from Russia for writ- 


OUR FIRST EVENING 


47 


ing a book against Russian prisons. He lives in Eng- 
land now. Tania was born in Russia and she speaks 
Russian and French and German and Italian as well as 
she does English. And she understands Greek ! One 
of her grandmothers is a Russian princess! And, oh, 
Tania’s just the smartest thing! She plays the piano 
and sings and paints and draws, and I don’t know 
what else.” 

“ And, oh, isn’t she lazy ! ” Elizabeth and Katherine 
mockingly intoned. 

“ And what do you think. Sherry ! ” Tad went on 
without pause. “ Tania’s going to draw my profile. 
She says my nose is too piquant for anything! And 
I’m going to write a poem about her ! ” 

‘‘ How did you and Tania La Chapelle get ac- 
quainted ? ” I asked. 

‘‘ We met this afternoon in the carre,” Tad ex- 
plained. “ She helped me carry some of my things. 
She was going to her music lesson, and after she came 
out we sat on the corridor window-sill and had the 
loveliest talk.” 

“ And you never told me a thing about it,” I rebuk- 
ingly observed. 

There are some things in life too sacred to speak 
about,” was Tad’s snubbing rejoinder. 

Come, come, you two, if you want to get to the 
salle de gymnastique before the dancing is over,” Eliz- 
abeth playfully urged. 


48 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


A door of the grande classe opened into a tiny ves- 
tibule that to one side showed the black glint of a naked 
window, and to the other a long mysterious stretch of 
darkness. A short flight of steps brought us to a sec- 
ond door, which the Gardners pushed open to usher 
us in upon a scene that made Tad and me start back 
in astonishment. 

The room, which was square and low-ceilinged and 
lighted by a single flare of gas, was packed with a 
mass of running, jumping, twirling, swinging, hopping 
creatures, whose shouts and squeals of merriment made 
a din that was like the rushing of many waters. 

In the center of the room a number of these hoydens 
were gripping long ropes suspended from a pivot in the 
ceiling, and were racing round, one after the other, at 
the craziest pace and with strides that suggested seven- 
league boots. 

In a corner more girls were bouncing on a springing- 
board, making a furious clatter and raising blinding 
clouds of dust. Some were leaping hurdles, others 
shooting down sliding-boards, and one hallooing 
maiden was swinging on a trapeze with a vigor that 
caused her to hit the ceiling with each swing, — now 
with her heels and now with her toes, — while yet an- 
other, suspended by the hands from the rungs of a 
horizontal ladder affixed to the ceiling, was wriggling 
herself back and forth in mid-air with an energy that 
made it dangerous to get within reach of her big feet. 


OUR FIRST EVENING 


49 


Down among the athletes swooped the dancers, 
plowing their way through obstacles like a dis- 
astrous cyclone. They banged into the seven-leagued 
whirlers, they upset the acrobats, collided with the 
hurdle- jumpers, and brought the board-sliders to 
grief. 

But the bumped-intos, as well as the bumpers-in, 
shrieked with delight, and the rougher the tumbling, 
the louder the laughter and the more furious waxed 
the fun. Above the racket could be caught the faint 
tinkling of a piano accompanied by a curious click- 
clack that Tad said made her think of the rattling of 
loose teeth. 

IBs the rattling of loose notes,” Elizabeth Gardner 
informed us. ‘‘ That old piano is at least one hun- 
dred and fifty years old and I don't believe six notes 
of it really sound.” 

“ Who's that great rowdy over there? ” Tad asked, 
peering through the dust-murky atmosphere toward 
the heel-flying ladder-walker. 

“ That's Marie-Henriette-Louise-Stephanie-Clemen- 
tine Pons de Chateau Ste. Julienne,” Katherine rattled 
off with astonishing glibness. “ She's the queen's god- 
daughter. She's seventeen years old and expects to be 
presented at court next year, and no doubt will marry 
some big official with a big title.” 

And,” Elizabeth followed, “ that girl swinging on 
the trapeze and yelling ‘ Whoop-la ! ' every time her toe 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


50 

hits the ceiling is Rachel Van Hove, who has had first 
prize for deportment three years running/’ 

And that untidy little minx with her hair tumbling 
about her ears and her apron slit from waistband to 
hem is Juliette de Rameau, the niece of a duchess,” 
Katherine said. 

‘‘ What awfully fat legs and what a short dress ! ” 
Tad disgustedly observed. 

La pauvre Juliette'* Elizabeth commiserated. 
“ She wears all the old dresses her sisters and cousins 
wore when they were at school. That’s why one week 
her skirt is above her knees and the next trails at her 
heels.” 

“ Is her family so poor ? ” I asked. 

“ Poor ! ” the Gardners exclaimed. “ The de 
Rameau family is enormously rich. Juliette’s turn for 
fine clothes will come when she’s introduced into so- 
ciety.” 

“ Who are those maniacs spinning so crazily round 
that swing thing? ” Tad asked. 

We call that ‘ swing thing ’ pas de giant/' Kath- 
erine replied. “That big stout girl,” she proceeded 
to explain, “ with the handsome black eyes and wild 
mop of kinky black hair is Octavie de Beauchemin. 
She’s the leading spirit among the Belgians. She’s 
the bossiest thing, but awfully jolly and good-natured. 

“ And that tall blonde with the dimple in her chin,” 
Katherine continued, “ is Renee Dupont, Octavie’s 


OUR FIRST EVENING 


51 

chum. She’s bossy, too, with, oh, what a temper ! ” 
Isn’t that the girl we saw practising in the refec- 
toire ! ” I here exclaimed, glancing toward a corner 
where, under a low, broad window sat, with a most 
distinguished air of aloofness, a young girl poring over 
a book. Her back was toward us, but her partially 
turned face showed the attractive outlines of a pink 
and white cheek, and I recognized the golden-blonde 
hair coiled so charmingly about the pretty head. 

“ That’s Claire,” Elizabeth replied, her soft eyes 
turning to rest with affectionate interest upon the figure 
beside the window. 

I wish I could introduce her to you,” she added, 
turning to me with a little air of embarrassed apology, 
“ but Claire does so dislike being disturbed when she’s 
studying.” 

‘‘ We won’t disturb your precious Claire,” the viva- 
cious Katherine gayly acquiesced, but don’t you think, 
Bess, we ought to introduce our compatriotes to 
'Mees’?” 

‘‘ That’s Miss Leigh, the English governess,” Eliz- 
abeth explained. “ I guess she’s the best one for you 
to meet first.” 

So Tad and I were skillfully piloted among the dan- 
cers and acrobats to a very tall and bony lady with 
a long sallow face and a long sallow neck about which 
clustered dark curls cut short like a boy’s. 

“ Mees,” from the depths of a scarlet shawl that un- 


52 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


gracefully enfolded her gauntness, extended a stiff hand 
to grasp ours, and, while vigorously shaking our help- 
less paws, ejaculated a sepulchral, How do you do? ” 

I was not prepossessed of such of the Britishers as 
were pointed out to us. The black princess dresses, 
which all alike wore, were ill-fitting, and the hard little 
knot in which each twisted her hair at the nape of her 
neck, was unbecoming. 

These Britishers danced among themselves, — slowly, 
gloomily, disgustedly, as though in the performance of 
a hated duty, — and if anybody bumped into them or 
stepped on their toes, they were far from taking it as 
a joke. 

All the same, the Britishers are splendid once you 
know them,’’ was Elizabeth’s kindly observation. 

‘‘ There goes a lovely girl,” Tad admiringly ex- 
claimed, as a slim creature with large dreamy eyes 
and sunny chestnut hair parted and coiled back from a 
delicately oval face, entered the room to cross a freed 
portion at a stiltedly slow pace, like a prim little queen. 

Tania La Chapelle ! ” Tad cried, darting toward 
her friend, only to see her snatched away by a girl evi- 
dently on the watch to capture her. 

The Gardners’ maid was now announced, and while 
walking with them to the salle de gymnastique door, 
Elizabeth, as she passed Claire de Miron, still en- 
grossed in her book, bent over to pat her white, soft 
little hand with a murmured, Bon soir, Claire.” 


OUR FIRST EVENING 


53 


Bon soir, Elizabeth,” Claire lifted large blue eyes 
to say in the sweetest of voices with the most entranc- 
ing of smiles. 

The sight of this friendship that seemed so sweet 
and true, again brought to my mind the girl I longed 
to befriend, and, with a hope that refused to be reason- 
able, my eyes persistently searched through the riotous 
crowd for the sad-eyed girl of the salon. But I did 
not find her. 

‘‘ You may go to bed, young ladies. Your cham- 
brettes are in the dortoir des Anglaises.” 

“ Mees ” it was, red-shawled and tragic, who was 
speaking, and gladly Tad and I escaped from the noisy 
confusion of the salle de gymnastique into the sooth- 
ing quiet of the dormitory, which we f^lind lighted and 
occupied by only a maid-servant in sabots, who was 
filling the water- jugs from a curious slender-nosed can. 

Too tired to talk, too spiritless to grab, as the Gard- 
ners so kindly had provided. Tad and I hurriedly 
found our rooms and without loss of time tumbled into 
the soft little white beds that so invitingly awaited. 

Barely had I closed my eyes when I was rudely star- 
tled by the rushing of feet and the buzzing of voices 
that announced the arrival of many girls. 

A moment later the curtains of my chambrette were 
torn violently apart and in the aperture stood a tall and 
lanky creature with bulging blue eyes set in a lily-pale 
face framed in a mop of sandy hair with cropped ends 


54 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


bristling, halo-like, from between the teeth of a round 
comb. 

This startling object carried a pitcher and basin 
which she thumped down upon my table with the 
words: “There's your bowl and jug! Beastly hard 
on a new girl to have no water to tub with in the morn- 
ing!" 

And off my strange visitor whirled herself, with the 
stiff muslin curtains of my chambrette flying out be- 
hind her like great white wings. 

A peep over the partition showed me that Tad, too, 
had been remembered by this queer girl with the bulg- 
ing blue eyes and unsaintlike halo of sandy-pale hair. 

Tad lifted sleepy eyes toward my questioning face, 
and as I turned away I heard her drowsily mutter, 
“ Suky Sikes!" 


CHAPTER IV 


OUR WINGS ARE CLIPPED 

‘ ^ KERRY ! Sherry ! Get up ! Everybody’s gone 

and you and I are here all alone by our two 
selves ! ” 

I popped open startled eyes to see the sunlight 
streaming in the dortoir des Anglaises and Tad doubled 
up over my partition in a fuss-cat state of agitation. 

‘‘Nobody here but our two selves! Goody!” was 
my delighted exclamation as I hopped out of bed and 
prepared to dress. “ I did so hate going down-stairs 
with all those strange girls ! ” 

“ I hate more having to wash in this icy cold water ! 
But here goes ! ” Tad whooped with a noisy splash and 
splutter. 

Then in bustled jingling, rustling, ribbon-end-bob- 
bing Mademoiselle Julie, who, much gratified to find 
Tad and me up, bustled away again, leaving with us the 
big brass key of the attic with which to get supplies 
from our armoires. 

“Pm going to wear my new blue, white-braided 
sailor-suit,” Tad announced. “ I guess it will be my 
last chance to wear it for many a day, for Mademoi- 
55 


56 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


selle Touchard won’t be long in having us parading 
about in those villainous black uniforms like the rest of 
the unfortunates here.” 

ril wear my crimson cashmere with the lace collar 
Connie Clyde brought me from Paris,” I announced. 

It’s awfully becoming, and it will be a good oppor- 
tunity to let the English girls see that Americans know 
how to dress.” 

Tad had beautiful hair. It was of the sunniest 
chestnut and fell about her neck and shoulders in a 
ripple of waves and curls that filled the girls at Miss 
Percival’s with admiring envy. All Tad had to do 
was to give her fluffy hair a toss, attach a cocky bow, 
and there she was — a picture. 

But my hair, though long and thick, was straight 
and russet-dark as sunburned pine-needles, so I plaited 
it in two long braids and tied the ends with black velvet. 

I had just twisted a front lock that by skillful man- 
ipulation could be made to take on the semblance of a 
wave, when Mademoiselle Julie came bustling back. 
Instead of the approbation, the admiration, we felt we 
had cause to expect, what did this miserable woman 
do but throw up her hands and exclaim in accents of 
horror, as she rolled anguished eyes from Tad to me, 

Ah, del, del! ” 

The agitated creature then pounced upon Tad, and 
with sharp scissors, aided by feverish fingers, hurriedly 
ripped off the white braid from the flaring collar of her 


OUR WINGS ARE CLIPPED 


57 


handsome sailor-suit. Vainly my poor sister struggled 
and protested, for the housekeeper’s will was strong 
and her hand firm, and our speeches fell upon uncom- 
prehending and unheeding ears. 

I next was shorn of my brilliant plumage and in its 
place was robed in a garb of sober sparrow hue. Prim 
linen collars and cuffs, ties of black silk, and little cir- 
cular aprons of black alpaca the housekeeper produced 
from her ready store and added to complete the hateful 
simplicity of this foreign boarding-school toilet. 

Pins, bangles, rings, were stripped from us and 
dropped into Mademoiselle Julie’s capacious pocket, 
with a grim, Pas zee zing for zee jeune iille in zee 
pensionnat.” 

The tyrant’s next act was to dip a hair-brush in 
water, seize poor Tad by the shoulders, and in two 
strokes of the dripping brush my sister’s splendid halo 
was reduced to a dank string. This the despoiler, with 
a grunt of satisfaction, proceeded to gather into a tight 
little strand and turn under with a firmly knptted length 
of strong black ribbon. 

"‘No! No! No! No!” squealed Tad, as during 
this desecration of her beauty she tugged away with 
rebellious force from the merciless fingers that wielded 
the brush. 

'' Oui! Oui! Oui! OuiP* the housekeeper cackled, 
clutching my poor sister’s wretched little braid with a 
grip that speedily reduced her to cringing submission. 


58 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Attention was then turned upon me where I stood 
limp with terrifying apprehensions. One slap of the 
sloppy brush wiped out every vestige of my beautiful 
wave. A second slap effaced the lovelocks that 
adorned my brow. But not until my long braids were 
turned under to hang on a level with my ear-lobes, and 
there fastened securely, did I arrive at the standard 
approved of by the cruel Julie. 

I, nevertheless, was fairly presentable, having less 
glory to be shorn of. But poor Tad was a fright to 
scare goblins. With her cloud of sunny hair plas- 
tered down and dragged back into one miserable wisp, 
her round, peachy-pink cheeks stood out ridiculously 
pink and plump; her denuded forehead bulged unbe- 
comingly; her short, turned-up nose seemed perkier 
than ever; her bluish-gray eyes, always babyishly big 
and wondering, now seemed monstrously out of pro- 
portion, and with nothing but that wretched little fin- 
ger-thick braid for protection, she presented the ap- 
pearance of possessing an unusual expanse of slim 
white neck. Add to this that her cheeks were flaming 
and her eyes fairly black with impotent rage, and you 
have the picture of my sister Tad as she emerged 
from the violating hands of Mademoiselle Julie. 

“ Oh, Tad, you are a sight! ’’ I hysterically giggled. 
‘‘If the girls at Miss PercivaFs could see you! If 
mama were only here! Go look at yourself in one of 
those beautiful mirrors — mine, for instance; that will 


OUR WINGS ARE CLIPPED 59 

show you with two noses and elephant teeth of pale 
green.** 

Go look at yourself, Sherida Monroe ! ** snapped 
Tad, who was in no mood for fun. ‘‘ Do you think 
you’re a beauty with your front hair all sleeky as 
though smeared with lard, and with those big wads tied 
with ribbon dangling on each side of your head like 
small cocoanuts with birds perched on top! How do 
you suppose you’d look in a glass that gives you ‘ two 
noses and elephant teeth of pale green * ? ” 

Mademoiselle Julie, however, was enormously 
pleased, for at each stage of our progress she rubbed 
her hands and chuckled approvingly, ''Bon! Bon! 
Bon!" 

The refectoire, into which she brought us, was empty, 
the piano was closed, and the long red tables were bare 
and shining-clean, as though the last meal had long 
since been done with. 

Mademoiselle Julie, with gruff kindliness, seeing 
that Tad and I had difficulty in swallowing the bitter 
coffee and lightly buttered tartines, as she called the 
sandwiched slices of bread and butter, brought us sugar 
and a nice, thick, sirupy compote de poires. Tad and 
I made a good breakfast, and, considerably cheered 
and strengthened, were folding up our big foreign 
napkins, when upon the scene tripped Mademoiselle 
Touchard, — suave, smiling, elegantly correct in trail- 
ing black with touches of creamy white at throat and 


6o 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


wrists, — for Mademoiselle Eugenie Touchard was as 
exquisite in dress as in manners. 

Bon jour, mesdemoiselles, bon jour!'' was her 
cordial greeting in her unctiously smooth voice that, in 
spite of muddy complexion and fishy-green eyes, made 
her a creature of such fascination. 

A scrutinizing glance at Tad and me called forth 
from her an exultant : ‘‘ Aha ! Bien contente I am 

to see you in des toilettes comme il faut — so different 
from your foolish American fashions ! Mademoiselle 
Adelaide is admirablement bien coiffee. And you 
Mademoiselle Sherida, in your simple robe without 
frivolous ornamentation of jewels, have already that 
air of distinction so becoming to la jeune Me. We 
shall lose no time in procuring your black uniforms, 
and thus you will be in every way des jeunes demoi- 
selles tout d fait distinguees. 

Et maintenant, mes enfants," she breezily con- 
tinued in her musical singsong, and rising briskly as 
though in anticipation of some delightful task, ‘‘ we will 
go to the grande classe to arrange about your studies. 

“ I expect we shall have no difficulty in placing you,’' 
she merrily added, ‘‘ as I understand from your mother 
that you both are excellent French scholars — you, 
especially. Mademoiselle Sherida. Nous verrons! 
Nous verrons! " 

Tad, in spite of our numerous French nurses, as a 
French scholar was disgracefully lacking, and I have 


OUR WINGS ARE CLIPPED 


6i 


to admit that my sister Tad was an idle, pleasure- 
loving creature who, during all the years of studying 
French at Miss Percival’s, had never gotten beyond 
the stage of wrestling with nouns that take x au plurieL 

“ Oh, Sherry ! ” Tad sighed in a lamenting whisper, 
as we followed the gracefully tripping Mademoiselle 
Touchard into the hall of inquisition called grande 
classe. Don’t I wish I were the grand French 
scholar you are ! ” 

As Mademoiselle Touchard, with her impressive air 
of maitresse surveillante, entered the grande classe and 
saluted the studiously silent young ladies there assem- 
bled with a dignified Bon jour, mesdemoiselles ! all 
rose and returned the greeting with a profound curtsy 
and a concerted Bon jour, mademoiselle! — awfully 
funny when one thought of it in connection with the 
rowdy “ whoop-las ! ” of the salle de gymnastique 
rabble. 

This ceremony over, the girls reseated themselves 
and returned to their books with an air of serious busi- 
ness ahead and no time to lose. 

The Gardners, from their places in the front row, 
nodded to us without surprise at our altered appear- 
ance, and nobody else seemed to give thought to us. 
Claire de Miron, rosily fresh as the morning itself, 
never lifted her eyes, but continued to pore over her 
studies with the same unbroken smile of placidity I so 
had admired the night before. 


62 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Mademoiselle Touchard, with Tad and me meekly 
following, mounted a platform that stood under one of 
the broad casement-windows, and seated herself at a big 
black desk with an authority that proclaimed her 
mistress of all she surveyed. In a low voice, not to 
disturb the classes, and with the glee of an executioner 
who comes to his task with high relish, she proceeded 
to sound Tad and me on our proficiency in French. 

I will not dwell upon the harrowing details of the 
examination that landed Tad, shamelessly unabashed, 
on a back-row bench with a pad, a pencil, and a thin 
wisp of a book entitled '' U Annie Preparatoire de 
Gramniaire/^ and me beside her in swelling indignation, 
with a pad, a pencil, and a thin book entitled Gram- 
maire Selon V AcademieP 

Mademoiselle Lucie Tarent, the maitresse in charge, 
who was a plump Liegeoise, wearing long earrings and 
a big waterfall, promptly settled us and then returned to 
her grade packed with girls whose primly brushed hair 
screwed into door-knobby knots proclaimed a generous 
allotment of mostly British.’’ 

Tad, cheerful enough, having fallen from no disas- 
trous height, proceeded to entertain herself by lead- 
penciling in the lettering of her U Annie Pripara- 
toire^* and passing whispered comments to me about 
our various classmates. She even pushed under my 
nose the following frivolous lines, dashed off in a sort 
of inspirational flash: 


OUR WINGS ARE CLIPPED 63 


“Let’s dance and sing! 

And merry be I 
What class we’re in, 

Oh, what care we 1 ” 

But I didn’t even smile at this nonsense, for I was 
steeped to the eyelids in a black sea of woe. I, who 
had read Madame de Stael’s Corinne '' in the original, 
to be reduced to a single book ! I, who had condemned 
myself to a whole year of foreign boarding-school for 
no other purpose than to polish off my French accent, 
to come to such a pass as this ! It was monstrous — 
cruel ! How tell my mother ! How confess the awful 
humiliation to my chum, Connie Clyde ! 

I bit my lips, blinked my eyes, clenched my hands, 
but slowly the tears of self-pity began to trickle down 
my cheeks. To hide them I bent low behind my shel- 
tering desk-lid. But Tad saw me, and throwing about 
me impulsive arms, exclaimed, regardless of who 
might hear : “ Don’t you cry, Sherry ! I know just 

how you feel to be in the same class with me, and I’ll 
stay behind on purpose to let you get ahead ! ” 

But I was now beyond consolation. Coughing, 
gasping, sniffling, and sputtering, I gave up and cried 
aloud, while Tad, in sheer sympathy, blubbered noisily. 

On the instant all lessons stopped. Tania La Cha- 
pelle ran to comfort Tad, while the Gardners hurried to 
support me with encircling arms. Even the Britishers, 
though they remained stiffly in their places, thawed to 
the extent of exclaiming: “Poor things! They’re 


64 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


homesick! No wonder, among such a lot of foreign- 
ers I ’’ 

As for the ‘‘ foreigners, the intensity of their sym- 
pathy verged on the frantic. In open defiance of the 
maitresses, who rapped on their desks and alternately 
commanded, entreated, and threatened, the Belgians 
flew to smother us with affectionate attentions. They 
pushed and fought to get near us, to kiss, to enfold us. 
They called us les pauvrettes! les malheureuses ! les 
mignonnes! in accents of moving tenderness. 

"" Elies ont faim, peut-etre,'* a commiserating voice 
suggested. 

** Ah, del, del!^* the bunch almost wept. 

And Lili d’ Artois, a snubby-nosed descendant of 
kings, made haste to crush sticky cakes into our hands. 
Juliette de Rameau, the pretty niece of the duchess, 
with a none too light-fingered touch, wiped the tears 
from our cheeks with the inky bombazine apron that 
her mother had worn at school. Renee Dupont, who 
fairly buzzed with stammering emotions, retied our 
hair-ribbons with an intensity of feeling that made us 
wince, while the boisterous Octavie de Beauchemin, 
plowing her way like a tug of war, thrust everybody 
aside that she might, willy-nilly, poke sticks of choco- 
late between our quivering lips. At this ridiculous 
sight of weeping girls with chocolate protruding like 
cigars from their mouths, the weepers burst into nerv- 


OUR WINGS ARE CLIPPED 65 


ous giggling, in which they were uproariously joined 
by the school. 

This ended the scene. Mattresses and Sieves went 
back to their places, studies were resumed, and order 
was restored to the grande classe, while Tad expressed 
her feelings as below : 

“We’ll cry no more, dear sister. 

We’ll cry no more, dear sis. 

Oh, isn’t this a jolly place. 

To spend a year of bliss ! ” 

During the scene Tad and I had just been through, 
the only one in the grande classe who had not come 
near me to offer help or sympathy was Claire de Miron. 
She had remained quietly in her place, but I am sure 
not through indifference, for her face often turned 
my way and upon it each time I saw a smile that seemed 
to say : ‘‘ I feel for you. I am dreadfully sorry. I 

should like to come to you, but I cannot wade through 
that mob I ” 


CHAPTER V 


AN EVENTFUL DAY 

I MET the girl of the salon. Tad and I, chaperoned 
by “ Mees/' were out buying a few little things 
we needed, when, while passing through one of the 
narrow streets of the lower town, with an unexpected- 
ness that fairly stopped my breath, round the corner 
came the girl I so persistently had been looking for. 
She was carrying an immense bunch of roses and 
syringa, and the maid with her was loaded to the ears 
with bundles. They both seemed anxiously hurried 
and the dark eyes of my friend were as pathetically 
sad as ever. 

Mon amie, as I secretly called her, did not see me, 
but passed so close that I gave a little involuntary cry, 
and she turned and recognized me with a hesitating 
smile, as though not sure that I remembered her. 

I knew now that she had gone to no other school, 
and once again my hope revived that she would yet 
become a pupil of the Pensionnat Van Pelt and I might 
become to her the friend I felt she so sorely needed. 

On my way to the grande classe, on our return to 
the Pensionnat, I ran into Mademoiselle Malaise, the 
French governess, escorting the higher courses to the 
66 


AN EVENTFUL DAY 


67 


salle de professeur where the masters gave their lec- 
tures. As I stood aside to let the long line pass, Claire 
de Miron, who was in the lead, threw me a curiously 
sly, intimate glance, as though she were trying to im- 
part a roguish confidence. 

Mademoiselle Tarent was giving a dictee when I ar- 
rived, and I lifted the lid of my desk to make a most 
astonishing discovery. 

The compartment that I had left in disorder so for- 
lorn I found arranged with the most exquisite neatness. 
My ‘‘ Grammaire Selon TAcademie ” and the cahier be- 
side it were carefully covered with the soft chocolate- 
brown paper provided for the purpose, and upon each 
was pasted a pretty etiquette inscribed in a pale, lacy 
handwriting, with my name. Inside the desk-lid was 
affixed a diagram, written in the same fanciful hand, 
of my recitations and practice hours. Added to all 
this was a tiny French and English dictionary, ruler, 
eraser, a pen with a dainty blue handle, a penwiper of 
graceful shape, and a row of delicately sharpened 
pencils. 

Whom was I to thank for this kindly service? Not 
the busy maitresse of the Troisieme Cours, not the 
stand-offish Britishers, nor yet the Gardners, for Eliz- 
abeth had arranged to show me how to cover my own 
books. Could it be Claire de Miron I wondered in an 
illuminating flash, as I recalled the curious glance she 
had given me? How was I to find this out? 


68 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Claire came back to the grande classe no more dur- 
ing the afternoon, and the close of recitations was 
ushered in by a hilarious confusion of bell-ringing and 
girls and governesses rushing about in a very bedlam 
of joyous excitement. 

What is it ? What’s the matter ? ” I asked of the 
Gardners hastening toward us. 

“ It’s solfege, the jolliest lesson of the week,” Eliz- 
abeth gayly answered. “ And Monsieur Gilbert has 
come a full hour earlier than usual ! We all adore him ! 
Come on ! He hates to be kept waiting.” 

She seized my hand and dragged me at a lively pace 
through the refectoire, across the carre of the swing- 
door, and into the salle de professeur, which was a 
pleasant room simply furnished with a red-varnished 
table running down the center, low rush-bottomed 
stools, a stove, and a handsome upright piano. 

The place, as Elizabeth pushed me in, was crowded 
with girls making things hum with their bustling ac- 
tivity. While some dragged to one side the heavy 
table, others, in a fury of haste, filled in the space 
with stools arranged in methodical rows. Several 
flurried creatures were distributing sheets of music and 
shouting boisterously to their companions to come 
claim their own. One girl, whose proudly arched nose 
betrayed a high and ancient lineage, was frantically 
dusting the piano, and all were insanely chattering and 


AN EVENTFUL DAY 69 

gesticulating, while governesses despairingly pleaded 
for order. 

Suddenly the big front-door bell gave an imperative 
clang that brought instant silence and sent the chatter- 
boxes scurrying in a panic to their places, where they 
stood, hands folded, eyes lowered, lips smiling — very 
models of maidenly propriety. 

Swift steps clicked across the marble entrance-cor- 
ridor, the door of the salle leaped open with quivering 
force, and upon the threshold, with an abruptness that 
suggested the dart of a flying bird, appeared a man 
who seemed fairly to bristle with arrogant authority. 

Gray eyes that sparkled like points of light beneath 
bristling brows of sandy brown, a bushy pompadour 
falling mane-like about vigorous shoulders, and a gray- 
ish mustache with ferociously pointed ends, enhanced 
this impression of imperious personality. 

His first act upon striding into the room was to give 
the piano a push that sent it thundering far from its 
corner. Then he decided to rearrange the stools, and, 
at his roar of command, up sprang the girls, hopping 
and leaping about to do his will, like a lot of frightened 
rabbits. 

He next caught sight of Tad and me, and with an 
ejaculation that was like the growl of an angry tiger, 
he pounced upon us and asked our names, ages, and 
nationality, as a cannibal chief might ask the weight 


70 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


and condition of the wretches he intended to devour. 

Receiving satisfactory replies through the Gardners, 
who came to our rescue, this dreadful man, making 
frightful noises in his mouth, as though he were sharp- 
ening his teeth to crunch our bones, dragged us to the 
piano, and seating himself with Tad and me standing 
one at each side, forced us to go through the scale 
tones, with all the school listening and his flashing eyes 
fixed unblinkingly upon our terrified faces. 

The ordeal was too much for our shattered nerves. 
What little voice I ever possessed shrank away to a 
shaky thread, and poor Tad, who has no voice at all, 
gave vent to sounds that were little more than husky 
gasps. In disgusted fury at so contemptible a display 
of vocal ability, the irate professor closed the exam- 
ination with an imperious Allez! '' bellowed at us with 
a savagery that sent us headlong to our seats in the 
front row, where for a full minute this terrible man 
glared and growled at us. 

Then he turned his attention to the class and the les- 
son began. And how those girls sang! If Monsieur 
Leon Gilbert was a rude blunderbuss who loved to roar 
and rant to see the girls scamper in fright, he knew how 
to make them sing like angels. 

Everything, from exercises to choruses, was per- 
fectly rendered, for not a tone, not the whispered 
breathing of a word, was allowed to pass unnoticed. A 


AN EVENTFUL DAY 


71 


fault — crash would come down his two big fists on 
the keyboard, and, swirling round on his stool, the in- 
dignant teacher would face the delinquents, flashing 
fury at them from beneath his scowling brows, puffing 
out his cheeks and spluttering out the air with a blood- 
curdling ‘‘ brrr-r-r-r ! ” — stretching his lips to show 
his strong front teeth in a leer of rage, raising and 
lowering his needle-sharp mustache-ends, and all the 
while growling and snarling like an angry dog. 

Then, in a flash, out over the sinister visage would 
leap a sunny smile. A cheery Allans!'* would re- 
store courage to the trembling class, a melodious pre- 
lude from the masterly fingers would soothe and charm, 
and the heavenly singing would recommence. 

Oh, you mustn’t mind our Monsieur Gilbert ! ” 
the Gardners said to Tad and me, when, with a 
snorting “Bon soir!" and a push that sent the piano 
bounding back to the wall, this awful man bustled off 
as he had come. ‘‘ Monsieur Gilbert is our pet pro- 
fessor. He gets us half holidays and sends us pates 
and makes Madame Van Pelt give us back our lost 
sorties.” 

Katherine Gardner then hurried away with a clam- 
orous Belgian friend. Tad skipped off with Tania La 
Chapelle, and I turned, as a matter of course, to join 
Elizabeth — to discover her running off by herself as 
though on some business of haste. 


72 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


As she crossed the refectoire I caught a glimpse of 
her face. It was happily smiling, so I guessed that the 
business that took her away was pleasant. 

In the little carre outside the refectoire I was met 
by Claire de Miron. 

“ We have receive la permission of madame la 
directrice for go in the garden of the hourgmestre for 
make petit tour dans Fair frais/' she said in pretty, 
liltingly broken English. You will come ? ” 

Claire passed her arm through mine, and as we 
crossed the carre to the courtyard, in an angle of the 
doorway, I saw standing Elizabeth Gardner. She 
made a quick forward movement as we appeared, and 
then as quickly drew back, as though something had 
startled or surprised her. 

Impulsively I held out toward her a welcoming hand, 
but before I could speak she was gone, so swiftly and 
silently that I was sure Claire never knew she was 
there. 

The garden of the burgomaster was even more fas- 
cinating than I had imagined it to be, seen from the 
salon window, with winding pathways running up hill 
and down between a time-blackened fountain, broken 
statuary, and hoary old trees with branches spreading 
far over the high stone wall ; and the girls in their black 
dresses moved quietly about in the afterglow of a gold 
and crimson sunset, and spoke softly, as though they 
too felt the charm of the quaint old place. 


AN EVENTFUL DAY 


73 


Madame Van Pelt, her pale face and graceful figure 
draped in a mantle of black lace, stood with Mademoi- 
selle Touchard on the marble terrace and smiled ap- 
provingly when she saw Claire and me together. 

Tad and Tania I had just stumbled across sitting 
side by side on a rusty iron bench embowered in a 
dying grapevine, with arms lovingly entwined and 
heads bent close in the engrossment of a mutual confi- 
dence. 

I did not have to ask Claire if she were the good 
fairy who had visited my desk, for almost her first 
words in the garden were : I have take la liherte 

to put cover on your books. Tu n'es pas facheef 

“ It have make for me le grand plaisir/' she blush- 
ingly affirmed in reply to my effusive thanks. “If 
you will permit,’’ she added, “ I will help what I can 
for assist in your progresf' 

After this you may guess how we two fell to chat- 
ting. 

Claire, who for all her quietness turned out to be 
quite a vivacious talker, told me all about her home in 
the country, and her dear little Flemish mother, whom 
she adored, and the ten brothers and sisters of whom 
she was the eldest. And I told Claire about my home 
in the city, and my darling mother, and the brothers 
and sisters of whom I was the eldest. 

Claire was enraptured. 

“ We will become des amies devoueesi ” she delight- 


74 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


edly announced. ‘‘From the first I have known we 
shall be des amies. We will be dear, dear friends and 
make all our walks and talks together, you and I.” 

“ And Elizabeth,” I gravely reminded her. 

“ And Elizabeth,” Claire gravely repeated. 

I then told Claire how much I admired her for being 
so different from the other girls, and that I especially 
wanted to know her because she was Elizabeth Gard- 
ner’s friend. And we just had the most glorious time 
rambling about that lovely old garden and confiding 
to each other what we thought of life and love and such 
things. 

Once Claire gave me just the tiniest bit of a shock. 
We were standing where the pathway sloped up to 
nearly the top of the stone v/all and were looking out 
toward the gorgeous sunset sky. 

“ Oh, Claire ! ” I exclaimed. “ Can’t you see the 
faces of angels looking from those clouds ! ” 

“ Not the faces of angels, mon amie” Claire’s mu- 
sical voice laughingly tinkled. “ But I think what toi- 
lette ravissante the couleur of the del make of one cos- 
tume de bal, avec bouquets de rose et garniture point de 
Bruxelles/' 

And presently, in some way that gave not the slight- 
est impression of bragging, I learned that Claire’s 
father was a baron, very rich, and that as soon as she 
left school she was to be presented at court. 

What news was this for me to tell Connie Clyde ! 


AN EVENTFUL DAY 


75 


** Saw you and Claire de Miron walking together in 
the burgomaster’s garden,” was Tad’s pert observa- 
tion to me later in the dormitory where we had gone 
to freshen up for dinner. I suppose you two intend 
to be chums like Tania and me! Want me to write a 
poem about you? What do you think of that? ” 

And into my hand Tad passed a crumpled paper 
upon which she had just scrawled : 

“Each moment sped like a luscious grape, 

So full of juice and sweetness.” 


CHAPTER VI 


WE ARE INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 

I T was Saturday evening mending-hour and all the 
Belgians were congregated on their side of the 
grande classe, chattering noisily while Mademoi- 
selle Julie superintended the mending of their linen and 
Mees ” droned from the “ Vicar of Wakefield/' to 
which nobody listened. 

The Gardners, who were going to the theater, had 
gone home before dinner, and Qaire de Miron was up- 
stairs at a Flemish lesson, for which a private teacher 
came to her three times a week. 

But where were the Britishers? Where was Tad? 
In the deserted Troisieme Cours not a creature was left 
except myself and Wilhemina von der Poppe, a plump 
little Hollandaise, who, into a brown linen bag sus- 
pended from her plump wrist, was crocheting cotton 
lace which, she quite simply explained, was for her 
trousseau. 

Wilhemina also explained that she had no linen to 
mend, because her laundry, sent home every three 
months, would come back to her in perfect condition. 
Great was my joy, as I sat idly twirling my thumbs 
76 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 77 

and somewhat wearily listening to Wilhemina’s child- 
ish prattle, when the door of the grande classe opened 
and up to me trotted Ailsie Dunmire, the pretty, roly- 
poly little niece of the Scottish earl, who blushingly 
said : The English girls are in the salle de pro- 

fesseur. It’s ever so much pleasanter than here. 
Don’t you want to come with us? We’re allowed to 
speak English Saturday evening.” 

The salle de professeur, after the big cheerless 
grande classe, looked invitingly cozy. All the gas 
jets were lighted, a bright fire burned in the fat little 
stove, and about the table were gathered (my sister 
Tad grinning boldly among them) the English girls, 
merrily chatting as they sewed. 

Upon the appearance of Ailsie, with me in her wake, 
all sounds of revelry ceased, and I found myself fac- 
ing the frigidly polite, rigidly correct Britishers of the 
grande classe. 

Ailsie, with the air of performing a function, then 
proceeded to introduce me to each girl in turn, who, 
as her name was pronounced, gravely rose and gravely 
shook hands. 

This stiffness was in funniest contrast to the Bel- 
gians, who didn’t care whether or not you were intro- 
duced, and who, when you were, bowed gracefully and 
made graciously flattering speeches. 

But, the ceremony of introduction over, the Brit- 
ishers found me a place at the table and in the friend- 


78 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


liest way took me into their conversation, as though 
they intended me to be one of them. 

It’s glad we are that you cried yesterday, because 
if a new girl’s homesick we know she’s the right sort, 
we do — believe me or not, as you please,” was the 
almost belligerent greeting of Pat Mack, who, besides 
her smudgy Irish-blue eyes and glorious Irish complex- 
ion, had hair of a black so splendid that the parting 
showed against it glistening-white like the shell of an 
egg. 

Well, I’m jolly glad we’re going to be friends,” 
dear little Ailsie spoke up. “ I’ve always felt as 
though Americans were sort of relations, don’t you 
know, because my uncle’s favorite brother’s son ran 
away to the States. He never came back, so we fancy 
he was scalped by the Indians.” 

** Out west? ” I asked. 

Dear, no ! We never heard of him getting any 
farther west than New York City,” Ailsie replied with 
an innocent widening of her babyish brown eyes. 

‘‘ My mama once knew some people from the 
southern part of America. They were from Brazil. 
They were dark as Gipsies,” the low-voiced, madonna- 
faced Louise Wilcox remarked. 

Brazil is in South America,” I politely corrected. 

“ South America or the southern part of America ! 
South England or southern part of England ! No dif- 
ference at all! Nong! Paddy toot! ” Emily Glover 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 79 

roared in a heavy contralto, defiantly fixing me with 
big, round, china-blue eyes. 

‘‘ North America and South America are entirely 
different countries,'' I observed with reproving dignity. 

“ Ah pump ! " Emily, without relaxing her hard 
stare, contemptuously ejaculated in tones like the roll 
of a bass drum. 

‘‘ I had an uncle who went to Canada," she then 
proceeded to inform me, with an air of daring me not 
to know this uncle. ‘‘ JSe was my mother’s step- 
brother's cousin, and he went away before I was born. 
His name was Dudley Leigh." 

“To what part of Canada did your uncle go?" I 
politely inquired. 

“ I think the place was called Chick-cay-go," Emily 
replied. 

“Not Chick-cay-go; Shee-car-go," Tania La Cha- 
pelle emphasized in a soft little voice. 

Tania was the only one of the girls who wasn't 
mending or embroidering. She was sitting up very 
straight. Tad beside her, with her delicate little head 
thrown stiffly back from her slender shoulders and her 
slim white hands folded in her lap, like a beautiful 
princess too proud or too lazy to work. 

Emily Glover, heedless of Tad's resenting glare, 
turned upon Tania angrily scowling eyes, and thrust- 
ing into the sweetly placid face a big pugilistic hand, 
she snapped off each thick pink finger a deny-it-if-you- 


8o 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


dare : C-h-i-c-k spells chick, doesn't it ? ^ is a, isn't 
it? C-a-y — there you are! And isn't g-o gof 
Chick-cay-go. Plain enough, isn't it ? " 

And as Emily cracked off this triumphant proof she 
whipped on a pair of big spectacles and crossed her big 
round blue eyes over the tops in a most horrible way. 

“ When Emily Glover wants to be especially dis- 
agreeable she puts on those glasses and crosses her 
eyes. She's no more near-sighted than you or I," the 
friendly little Ailsie informed me in a discreet under- 
tone. 

“ Is your papa (accent strong on last syllable) a 
gentleman ? " I here was arrogantly addressed by 
Roberta Wilcox, who was a tall, sinuous creature with 
a pert nose and a fat freckled face. 

“ I don't know what you mean," I stiffly replied. 

“ She means does your father live on his estates and 
do nothing except hunt and fish, and maybe travel," 
Ailsie sweetly explained. 

‘‘ My father is a banker," I answered with a curtness 
intended to be crushing. 

Bankers don't belong to the gentry. I’m allowed 
to associate only with the gentry," twittered the thin 
voice of a girl called Minty Maxwell. 

Minty Maxwell was a snippy little thing whose red 
pursy lips suggested a small ripe strawberry. Her 
blue eyes were mere dots, her tiny nose was sharply 
tippy, and her daffodil-yellow hair was brushed sleekly 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 8i 


back from a lofty forehead and bound with a black 
velvet band. 

Minty was everlastingly scribbling in a tiny black 
notebook, which, with a tiny black pencil, delicately 
pointed, hung from her black-apron belt by a black 
cord. The minutest details of everybody’s affairs 
seemed to be in this tiny book, which was perhaps the 
reason why Minty wasn’t popular. 

“ My papa is Colonel Robert George Wilcox of * His 
Majesty’s Own ’ Anglo-Indian Service,” the un- 
squelched Roberta arrogantly announced. I’m 
called after him — Roberta Georgina. 

“ Louise and I haven’t seen our papa for ten years,” 
Roberta Georgina, with patronizing affability, pro- 
ceeded to inform us. “ But we expect him home in 
time for la Grande Distribution in August. Then 
we’re going back to Chiltonhurst Manor, — that’s 
where we live when papa’s home, — and my sister 
Louise and I are going to be presented at court and 
attend grand balls and week-end parties and all sorts 
of fine things. 

I mean to hunt, too,” the conceited Roberta airily 
rattled on. “ I’m training myself to be a companion 
to papa — a sort of elder son, don’t you know. You 
see my sister Louise is an awful poke. She’s afraid 
of — ” 

** Hold your tongue ! ” ‘‘ My sister Louise ” cut 

short this highfalutin harangue with an authority 


82 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


that proved that whatever she was afraid of, it wasn’t 
Roberta Georgina. 

I’m cultivating accomplishments, too — music and 
French and maintien” Roberta again began with a 
smirking twist of her fine coral-red lips. I was first 
in all those things at Lady Mary Fullerton’s school 
for the aristocracy in London, where we went before 
we came here. Remember, Lou ? ” 

‘‘Jumped into a bramble bush and scratched out 
both his eyes,” Lou softly hummed, leaving to be 
understood a second line ending with a certain obnox- 
ious word that rimed with “ eyes.” 

Ailsie now saw her chance to ask with kindly in- 
terest, “Were you ill coming over?” 

Tad and I immediately plunged into voluble de- 
scriptions of waves mountain-high and of winds 
shrieking through the rigging, and the various other 
thrilling experiences of our first trip overseas. 

“ Ah pump ! ” Emily Glover rudely interrupted. 
“ What’s all that compared to a trip across the Chan- 
nel! You don’t know anything about the water until 
you’ve crossed the English Channel.” 

“Haven’t you crossed the English Channel?” all 
the Britishers shouted, covering Tad and me with eyes 
of shocked surprise. 

“ We came by way of Antwerp,” we meekly ex- 
plained. 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 83 

Then you’ve never been to England ! ” the Brit- 
ishers gasped. 

Tad and I shook guilty heads. 

‘‘ Not been to London! ” Louise Wilcox huffed. 

‘‘ I shouldn’t consider I’d seen anything if I hadn’t 
seen London,” Roberta pertly observed. 

Then you’ve never seen a real city — just fancy I ” 
piped up Minty Maxwell, who was making entries in 
her notebook with a pointedness personally insulting. 

I guess we have real cities in America I ” Tad in- 
dignantly snorted with a wag of her curly head. 

‘‘ And our grapes are as big as your apples ! ” I 
bragged. 

‘‘ And we’ve Indians — and cowboys — and — and 
— snakes ! ” was our united contribution. 

“ Ah pump I ” Emily Glover growled, making a grab 
for the spectacles she had just taken off. 

Here the door of the salle de professeur was stealth- 
ily opened and in poked the white face and cropped 
head of Suky Sikes. 

I know that I told Suky’s eyes were pale and poppy, 
that her eyebrows were invisible smudges, but not that 
her nose stuck out long and thin like a pointed finger, 
and that her lips were stretched in a silly grin as though 
she was always thinking comical, quizzical things. 

'' Hamper just come for Pat Mack ! ” Suky an- 
nounced in a thrilling whisper. 


84 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Oh, you darling old Suke ! When did it come ? 
Where is it? How did you discover it? Who’s got 
it?” were the questions hurled at Suky, whom Pat, 
aided by the strong arm of Emily, was dragging into 
the room and holding prisoner by force of firm grasp. 

Peeking over the front railings. Saw maid take 
it in. Standing now in entrance corridor — close to 
swing-door,” Suky explained after her fashion of 
jerky brevity. 

‘‘ Jolly big hamper,” she added. Name Miss Pa- 
tricia Margaret McDermott painted big black letters 
white canvas cover.” 

“ It’s from Dublin, from me Aunt Moran ! ” Pat 
gayly announced. “ And believe me or not, as you 
please, but it’s nobody that can pack a better hamper 
than me Aunt Moran — believe me or not, as you 
please.” 

You should see the hampers Lou and I used to get 
from Chiltonhurst Manor, where we live when papa’s 
at home,” bragged Roberta, to whom nobody listened. 

Jumped into a bramble bush,” Lou hummed loud 
enough for all to hear. 

There’s a pork pie in me hamper, girls,” Pat was 
saying. 

And orange marmalade, and collared brawn made 
by me aunt’s own cook, and damson jam, and frosted 
plum cake, and Everton toffee, and almond rock, and 
oatcakes thin as wafers,” Pat went on to enumerate, 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 85 

until the girls looked ready to devour her in excess of 
greedy anticipation, and even the hardened Suky 
showed signs of gastronomic interest. 

‘‘You’ll get that hamper for us? You will now, 
won’t you, Suky darling?” Pat coaxed in the most 
wheedling of Irish voices. 

“ Couldn’t ! ” Suky replied with aggravating de- 
cision. “ Against rules to open hampers before in- 
spected by Old Prowler. Might be novels, or love 
letters, or other horrid things of that sort inside. 
Shouldn’t I be responsible ? ” 

“ Nong! ” Emily Glover roared. “Jammy dee lee 
vee!” 

“ Jamais de la vie — oh, Emily, please ! ” poor Tania 
almost weepingly protested against this latest lin- 
guistic mutilation of the incorrigible Emily. 

“ Ah pump ! ” the incorrigible scoffed. 

“You’ll get me hamper, now, Suke, won’t you?” 
Pat was cajoling in the sweetest of Irish voices. 
“ You know if Old Prowler gets her paws on me 
hamper, she’ll lock all the goodies in her strong cup- 
board and, like as not, give us the piccalilli for break- 
fast and the marmalade for dinner, and make the pork 
pie last a month — you may believe me or not, as you 
please.” 

“ Remember how she kept the marzipan tart the 
Von Overbecks sent me from Munich until it got so 
hard we had to pound it with an iron dumb-bell to get 


86 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


the tiniest bit,” the dreamy Tania observed in her 
dreamy voice. 

Think they’d confiscate hampers like that in an 
English school ! ” the irascible- Emily growled. 
“ Nong! Mercy bowcoop! ” 

'' Merci beaucoup, Emily,” Tania wailed with a 
wince of pain. ‘‘ ‘ Mercy bowcoop ’ isn’t French.” 

“Ah pump! Who cares? French is no language 
for grown-ups to speak anyway I ” Emily retorted. 

“ Somebody should make a complaint about this 
school to the London Times'' Minty Maxwell whin- 
ingly suggested. 

“I’ll write to my papa. Colonel Robert George Wil- 
cox of ‘ His Majesty’s Own ’ Anglo-Indian Service,” 
Roberta grandly proposed. “ My papa is always get- 
ting things righted for people through the London 
Times. Isn’t he, Lou?” 

“Jumped into a bramble bush and scratched out 
both his eyes,” Lou softly intoned. 

“ Get me hamper, Suky, please do,” Pat almost tear- 
fully importuned. “ Never again will we have so 
good a chance — with Madame Van Pelt in her pri- 
vate apartments. Mademoiselle Touchard with her, and 
Old Prowler good for another hour at least in the 
grande classe.” 

Suky’s face took on an expression of grieved 
offense. 

“ Somebody told me that you English girls said I 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 87 


was a muff for waiting on the Belgians,” she finally 
announced. 

** Oh, Suky ! It’s false ! How could we say such 
things about you, Suky — the most generous, the most 
obliging girl in the whole school! Why, we’re all 
your best friends! You believe that, don’t you, 
Suke ? ” the Britishers exclaimed in a protesting 
chorus, as they all but embraced Suky in their eager- 
ness to conciliate. 

‘‘ Believe me or not, as you please, but our darling 
Suke’s the most popular girl of the Pensiohnat Van 
Pelt — believe me or not, as you please ! ” Pat shouted 
in a very delirium of enthusiasm. ‘‘ You’ll get me 
hamper, Suke?” 

Haven’t time,” replied Suke, who had an aggra- 
vating trick of appearing to weaken only to stiffen 
into a firmer stubbornness. “ Promised to darn 
Octavie de Beauchemin’s stockings! Got to change 
buttons Renee Dupont’s new boots ! Have to — ” 

I’ll give you a pot of gooseberry jam and a big 
lump of plum cake and heaps of Spanish nuts for the 
Belgians,” bribed Pat, whose morals the situation was 
fast corrupting. 

Might try,” cautiously admitted Suky, whose at- 
tention was concentrated upon twisting a spiky side- 
lock around her ear. 

Promise stand by me ? ” Suky addressed the en- 
circling crowd. 


88 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Commy dee raising! ” Emily Glover flared up to 

say. 

'' Comme de raison^ Emily/’ Tania corrected with 
a delicacy of accent beyond the power of any Brit- 
isher of the Pensionnat Van Pelt to imitate. 

“ Suppose lose my next sortie?” 

Suky didn’t say ‘‘ sorty,” as did the rest of the 
Britishers, for through some curious inconsistency the 
freakish Suky spoke French with surprising fluency 
and elegance. 

“ We’ll lose ours ! ” the crowd shouted. 

And so it was settled. 

Plans for the capture of the hamper were laid by 
the Britishers with all the zest and delight of true 
lovers of sport. 

To Suky was entrusted the daring and delicate task 
of removing the hamper from the front corridor. 
Emily Glover constituted herself guardian of the creak- 
ing swing-door. Others were detailed to warn of ap- 
proaching danger. And all were to assist in trans- 
porting the hamper to the salle de gymnastique. 

Somebody’s got to go make sure the door of the 
sally jimmynastick is unlocked on the terrace side,” 
Emily presently announced. 

Sherida Monroe and I will go,” Ailsie promptly 
offered, with a surreptitious tug of my dress as hint 
that there was a motive behind her offer. 

‘‘ Go on, then,” Emily roughly acquiesced. ** And 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 89 

mind, Ailsie Dunmire,’’ she bossily added, “ that you 
don’t get giggling in your idiotic way and spoil every- 
thing, as you generally do with your silly giggling.” 

'‘How about me going, too?” Minty Maxwell 
plaintively squeaked. 

"Nong!” Emily bellowed at her in low G. 
" You’re always trying to sneak out of jobs. Minty 
Maxwell! But you don’t sneak out of this! Nong! 
Jammy dee lee vee! 

"Dare any of you to shirk!” Emily thundered at 
the crowd, as she made a vicious dart for her spec- 
tacles. 

" Make haste ! Let’s get away before she makes 
those horrid crossed eyes ! ” was Ailsie’s agitated 
whisper, as seizing my hand she pulled me outside the 
door, which she quickly closed. 

" Now I’m going to initiate you into the mysteries 
of our secret passageways. Every new girl should 
know about them, and I made up my mind to tell 
you,” Ailsie said, as she hurried me through the re- 
fectory, across the little carre of the winding stairs, 
and from this into the courtyard. 

Here all was black as an inkpot, save for the ruddy 
glare of the lighted windows of the boarding-school, 
that in a long, three-storied wing stretched from the 
burgomaster’s house the length of the courtyard, right 
up to the slope of the terrace. 

Peering up over the stone sills of the lower win- 


90 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


dows I could see into the grande classe, with the 
Belgian girls chatting and frolicking, Mademoiselle 
Julie bustling to get stockings darned and buttons 
sewed on, and Mees ” still at her eternal droning 
of the “ Vicar of Wakefield.” 

“ Come away,” Ailsie whispered. Old Prowler 
might see you.” 

Cautiously we crept over the bumpy stones of the 
courtyard and up the short, cobble-stoned incline to 
the terrace playground, where, so black was the black- 
ness and so thick the big trees, that I had to clutch 
Ailsie firmly in order not to bump out my brains. 

The salle de gymnastique was a one-story exten- 
sion built on to the boarding-school wing, and was 
separated from it by a passageway and two stout doors. 
Another door opened onto the terrace. This was the 
door through which the Britishers proposed to smug- 
gle the hamper. 

“ The door’s locked ! ” Ailsie distressedly wailed 
as she pulled and twisted the knob. 

** I shall have to go round by the grande classe to 
open it. Wait here until I come back. If I’m gone 
too long you’ll know I’ve been caught and you’ll have 
to tell the girls,” she explained as she hurried away 
through the darkness. 

I was not amused by myself in the dark on that 
lonely terrace. The rattling tattoo of the shriveled 
leaves, as the wind soughed among the branches of 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 91 


the great chestnuts, made me think horrible, creepy 
things of the old burgomaster and the ladies that used 
to walk there, until I was as terrified to run away as 
to stay. 

I was just about to decide that running away was 
the lesser evil, when I was paralyzed to hear by my 
side a faint rustling like the swishing of silken skirts, 
and into my ear was breathed a fluttering sigh that 
slowly swelled into a gurgling moan. 

I flung up my arm as shield against the unseen hor- 
ror, when — oh, the ghastly terror of this ! — my el- 
bow was seized in a bony clutch holding me in a grip 
so vicious that through my sleeve I could feel the 
sharp pressure of the long, pointed nails. 

My frantic pulling away but buried deeper the hor- 
rible fangs, and weak from fright I sank back against 
the door. It opened. I heard Ailsie's voice softly 
calling, “ Are you there. Sherry ? ’’ and felt the com- 
forting pressure of her warm little hand in mine. 

“Ailsie!'' I moaned. “Something awful’s got 
me!” 

“Who? What? Where?” was Ailsie’s sharp 
query. 

“My elbow! Quick, Ailsie! Take it off!” I 
groaned. 

A swift investigation by Ailsie’s soft fingers, a 
wrench, and I was free! 

“ You were caught on the jagged edge of that old 


92 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


waterspout/’ Ailsie explained in the disgusted tone of 
one who has had a great fright for nothing. 

Such a time as I had to get here ! ” she giggled, 
while pulling me after her across the slippery floor of 
the salle de gymnastique. “If Octavie de Beauchemin, 
to whom I confided my trouble, hadn’t obligingly upset 
a bottle of ink to distract the attention of Old Prowler, 
never in the world should I have gotten here. We’ll 
have to make haste to see things before the girls ar- 
rive. 

“ The first mystery to be unraveled,” Ailsie ex- 
plained, “ is the ‘ Hole.’ The ‘ Trou,’ the Belgians call 
it.” 

“ Troo? ” I repeated puzzled. 

“Yes, trou; t-r-o-u — troo. Can’t you speak any 
French at all? ” Ailsie asked a little sharply, as though 
intolerant of my stupidity. 

“ Hold tight to me,” she cautioned. “ Look out for 
the ‘paddy gint.’ You don’t want to be hit by the 
ropes.” 

Gripping Ailsie’ s chunky waist, I stumbled along 
after her until we bumped against the wall. Here 
Ailsie, with extreme care, slid along the chilly sides. 
A second halt, of a suddenness that banged us to- 
gether with painful rudeness, and my guide announced : 
“ We’re behind the stove. Don’t be afraid. There’s 
no fire on a Saturday. 

“ You’re standing directly in front of a big hole in 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 93 

the wall/’ Ailsie now proceeded. ‘‘ Don’t move if you 
don’t want to fall in. Things are rather ticklish about 
here.” 

With these thrilling words Ailsie slipped from my 
grasp and in the most uncanny fashion disappeared. 

Your hand ! ” I presently heard her whisper from 
the vicinity of my feet. And as I reached down grop- 
ing hands they were seized in her warm clasp and 
she pulled me forward with an admonitory : “ Get 

down on your knees and crawl backward. Come on ! 
I’ve got you ! ” 

I dropped, and with cringing caution proceeded as 
directed — for it is uncanny to creep backward into the 
black depths of what one doesn’t know. 

“ Down with your head if you don’t want a good 
whack ! Look out for that spike on the left ! Not too 
near the other side! It’s awfully splintery! Go slow 
on this chair ! It has no seat and the back’s gone and 
the legs are wobbly ! ” These were the excitable warn- 
ings with which Ailsie directed my movements, as, 
carefully reaching out one investigating foot after the 
other, assisted by much pulling from the giggling Ailsie 
and much struggling by my giggling self, I slowly pro- 
gressed on my hazardous way. 

You’re in the ‘ Hole ’ ! ” Ailsie triumphantly an- 
nounced, when at last I stood with my feet firmly 
planted on a solid and level support. “ Matches and a 
candle ought to be somewhere about here.” 


94 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


A scratch and a tiny flare, by the light of which I 
saw myself standing before an arched opening, with 
my chin on a level with the gymnasium floor and my 
eyes confronting the back of the little gymnasium 
stove. 

“ What a curious place ! ” I exclaimed, as the flame 
died out and we again stood in darkness. “ How did 
it happen — that funny opening? ” 

It’s the top of a window,” Ailsie replied. “ This 
place in here used to be a cloak-room, and when they 
built on the gymnasium they left the upper half of 
the window for light and air. It’s lucky for us that 
they did, for what the girls of the Pensionnat Van 
Pelt would do without the ‘ Hole ’ would be hard to 
say.” 

Is this the only way to get in ? ” I asked. 

‘‘ The ‘ Hole ’ wouldn’t be of much use if there was 
only one way of getting in,” Ailsie laughed. “ You 
can get in by the gymnasium or by the passageway 
that branches from the little carre at the foot of the 
gymnasium steps. No matter by which side we’re 
chased we always can escape. That’s what makes the 
' Hole ’ so jolly. 

‘‘ Now I’ll take you to the ‘ Loft,’ ” Ailsie said when 
I had been made thoroughly familiar with the work- 
ings of the “ Trou.” 

“ Keep close,” she cautioned, as, with me firmly 
gripping, she slowly shuffled her way out of the depths. 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 95 

‘‘ Fm taking you out by the passage,” she explained. 

It’s awfully narrow and both sides are lined with 
rickety glass doors. A bump into one of them and 
you’d have Old Prowler on us in a minute.” 

‘‘Are there rooms along here?” was my surprised 
question. 

“ Little cabinets used for practice-rooms before the 
gymnasium was built on,” Ailsie replied. “ They’re 
too dark for that now. The Belgians use them to 
hide their hampers. The Britishers prefer the 
‘ Loft.’ ” 

Here Ailsie came to a sudden stop, and, pulling open 
a door, pushed me up a stairway so steep and narrow 
that I had to climb it sideways. As my head came up 
over the top I saw, by the dim glow with which the 
place was mysteriously filled, a stretch of wooden floor 
space, so close to the ceiling that Ailsie’s frantic warn- 
ing not to stand upright was unneeded. 

I crawled with gingerly caution over the top of the 
ladder stairway and sat on the floor — to find facing 
me from the far end a big full-moon patch of murky 
yellow light. 

“ Look through ! ” Ailsie panted, as, having extri- 
cated her plump person from the stairway, she flopped 
down beside me. 

On my knees I hopped across the dusty floor and 
looked through, to find to my amazement that I was 
gazing upon the grande classe from the height of its 


96 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


unusually high ceiling. I saw the girls moving about. 
I heard their voices. I could even distinguish what 
they were saying, though all seemed strangely far-away 
and unreal. 

“ What is it ? ’' I asked, as I returned on my gritty 
way. 

‘‘ An old stovepipe hole,’’ Ailsie answered. 

“ Don’t ask me to explain,” she hastily nipped the 
avalanche of questions she saw coming. ‘‘ The ‘ Loft ’ 
always has been the greatest mystery. Why it was 
built between walls and so close to the ceiling, with no 
opening for light or air, is something we’ve never 
found out. The stovepipe hole wasn’t always there, 
you know,” she added. 

‘‘ Could the place have been a sort of hiding-hole for 
secret prisoners in the burgomaster’s time ? ” was my 
awesome question. 

It might have been a hiding-hole for secret pro- 
visions,” was Ailsie’s matter-of-fact reply. ‘‘ One 
thing sure, it was meant to be secret, for the door is 
painted to imitate the wall, and if you didn’t know 
where to look for the crack you’d never find it. 

Would you believe,” Ailsie went on, ‘‘ that gov- 
ernesses in this house have come and gone without even 
suspecting the ‘ Loft ’ ? ” 

The terrace was dark and deserted as ever when 
Ailsie and I returned to see if the girls were coming. 
I could hear nothing but the crackling and creaking 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 97 

of the great trees in the wind, but Ailsie’s practised 
ears presently caught sounds that caused her to nip my 
arm with a joyful: “ They’re coming! And they’ve 
got the hamper ! ” 

The hamper, so far, had made its perilous journey 
without mishap, although the girls had thrilling tales 
to tell of its many narrow escapes. 

All now left was to transport it to the “ Loft.” The 
simpler plan would have been by way of the carre 
passage, but its nearness to the grande classe made it 
too hazardous to be risked, so nothing remained but the 
complicated and roundabout “ Trou.” 

While preliminaries were being arranged, as to who 
should push and who carry, I hurriedly initiated Tad 
into the behind-the-scene mysteries just revealed to me. 
We were abruptly called away by the whispered an- 
nouncement that the hamper was now in the “ Hole ” 
and the assistance of all was needed to lift it to the 
“ Loft.” 

Carrying the heavy hamper up the steep and narrow 
stairs of the ‘‘ Loft ” was an extremely difficult mat- 
ter, especially as our movements had to be noiseless 
as well as rapid. We were making progress, how- 
ever, and were up just about halfway when Suky Sikes, 
on watch at the pipe-hole, made the agitating announce- 
ment that Old Prowler was rapidly approaching the 
gymnasium side of the grande classe. 

The dangers of the situation necessitated a swift 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


98 

and forcible closing of the "‘Loft’' door, which 
jammed the strugglers on the stairway into a most un- 
comfortable heap, until released by a second announce- 
ment explaining that the housekeeper had returned to 
the opposite side of the room. 

More tugs and punches from vigorous arms, a heave 
from below of Pat’s broad shoulders, a grip from above 
of Emily’s firm hand and the hamper was landed. 

In response to Pat’s hospitable “ Come on, girls ! ” 
the lot of us squatted about the big basket from which 
eagerly officious hands had rapidly removed straps and 
strings. The lid was raised, letting escape an appetiz- 
ing fragrance, and while we smacked appreciative lips, 
Pat lifted out a white cloth bulging with something 
which, when the cloth was opened, the Britishers 
greeted with a joyful cry of “ Scones ! ” 

“ Buttered ! ” was Pat’s delightful addition. “ And 
now for the marmalade to eat with them ! ” 

A jar of this was soon found and opened and each 
girl dipped her scone in the luscious compound and 
scooped up what she wanted. 

“ Veal and ham pies! ” Pat next announced, as she 
handed to everybody a small patty solid with a savory 
jellified mixture, each bite of which we took with an 
appreciative mumbling that expressed sentiments too 
deep for utterance. 

“Jolly good!” Roberta Wilcox muttered thickly 
through a mouth inelegantly full. “ But I just wish 



In response to Pat’s hospitable “ Come on, girls 95 




r 




INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN 99 

you girls could taste the veal and ham pies of Chilton- 
hurst Manor, where we live when papa’s at home. Re- 
member, Lou ? ” 

Lou just then was engrossed in losing none of the 
very big and very oozy bite of pie, and what she mum- 
bled through the ooziness might have been, ‘‘ Jumped 
into a bramble bush,” but of this of course I couldn’t 
be sure. 

“ A veal and ham pie once gave me a dreadful at- 
tack of indigestion,” Minty Maxwell squeaked, as she 
helped herself to a second pasty when Pat wasn’t look- 
ing. ** I advise you girls not to eat too many. But 
do as you like, I don’t care ! ” she added in the aggra- 
vating little singsong with which, I had already oc- 
casion to notice, she concluded most of her disagree- 
able speeches. 

“ Ah pump ! ” growled Emily Glover, whose watch- 
ful eye had seen Minty’s little pilfer. “If anybody 
here is going to make herself ill overeating veal pies, I 
know who it is.” 

“ Eat all you want — everybody ! Help yourselves ! 
Don’t wait to be asked ! ” the hospitable Pat invited. 

So into the big basket we dipped at our pleasure and 
stuffed ourselves full of plum cake, pickles, Melton 
Mowbrays, collared brawn, and figs, nuts, and raisins, 
washed down with deliciously sweet drink in bottles, 
until we could stuff no more. 

During the feasting Suky, I noticed, sat crouched 


100 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


at the pipe-hole, eating nothing, though Pat placed 
beside her generous portions of everything. 

She’s keeping her share for the Belgians,” Ailsie 
informed me. 

‘‘ Muff ! Wasting good British edibles on for- 
eigners ! ” grumbled Emily Glover, -whose sharp ears 
had heard. 

“ Where’s the almond rock? I’ll die if I don’t find 
that almond rock,” fussed Roberta Wilcox, who was 
frenziedly grubbing in the depths of the basket. 

The almond rock was found. It was a lovely but- 
tery, golden-clear toffee full of blanched almonds, and 
of a hardness so hard that it could as easily have been 
bitten into as sheet iron. 

The British method was to crack off a bit and hold 
it in the mouth while it slowly melted, when each nut, 
as it was released, was gleefully crunched. 

We were all sitting, cheeks bulged in this agreeable 
occupation, when Tania softly suggested that it might 
be a good time for Tad to recite one of her poems. 

She’s a real poet. She writes the most beautiful 
things,” was Tania’s admiring tribute. 

Recite the ‘ Drunkard’s Wife,’ ” I proposed. 

“ There are fourteen verses,” Tad modestly hesi- 
tated. 

“ Let’s hear them ! Let’s hear them ! ” the Brit- 
ishers clamored. 

Tad thereupon removed from her cheek her lump of 


INTRODUCED TO GREAT BRITAIN loi 


toffee, which Tania obligingly held, and in a moving 
voice began : 

“ Go, take the urn and bring me beer, 

And let not thy steps be slow; 

For I have that within me 
That can strike an awful blow.” 

She got no farther, for Suky from the pipe-hole 
was excitedly jerking out : ‘‘ Leontine with the tar- 

tines ! Old Prowler gone to ring bell ! Belgians fold- 
ing up work ! ” 

The hamper was closed and shoved into the depths 
of the “ Loft.” We scrambled down the ladder, shot 
through the gymnasium to the terrace, and sprinted 
away through the darkness to safety. 

“ To-morrow afternoon, girls, in the ‘ Loft " for an- 
other feast!” Pat whispered to the lot of us before 
parting for bed. 

I had just drawn my chambrette curtains when 
they were rudely shoved aside and in pushed Suky 
Sikes, saying as she thrust into my hand a tiny note : 
‘‘Had it since dinner. No chance before. Thought 
you wouldn’t want Britishers to know.” 

Suky gone, I sat on my bed to examine what she 
had given me. It was a slip of rose-pink paper, faintly 
perfumed, prettily folded, and upon it, in an exquisitely 
delicate handwriting, was inscribed : 

Bonne nuit et des reves doux. 

“ Claire.” 


CHAPTER VII 


R 


A REPETITION 

EPETITION ! Repetition! rang excitedly 
through the house one evening after dinner, 
when Madame Van Pelt announced that 
preparations were then being made for a musical in 
the grand salon, and that the maitres and maitresses 
de musique would soon arrive, and that we were to 
present ourselves in best black dresses and lavallieres 
of Marie-Louise blue, with our portfolios of music, 
prepared to play, sing, and deport ourselves with the 
perfection inculcated by our various teachers. 

The Belgians, when the news burst, stampeded to 
capture practise pianos in a panic of emotions that 
shattered every rule of les convenances, and even the 
conservative Britishers could not suppress their tu- 
multuous feelings. 

We’ll write to the London Times! The London 
Times shall hear of this outrage! ” they clacked in in- 
dignant chorus as they gathered their portfolios from 
the grande classe music-rack. 

“ Believe me or not, as you please, but it’s not meself 
who’ll be here another term to be trapped by a trick 


A REPETITION 


103 

like this — believe me or not, as you please,” Pat 
Mack, the contentious, fumed. 

Well, they haven’t trapped me ! At one of Lady 
Mary Fullerton’s musicals, attended by marchionesses 
and duchesses, and even royal princesses, I played 
Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 off by heart, and I 
hadn’t seen it more than twice, either ! ” Roberta, the 
splendidly mendacious, took advantage of her sister 
Lou’s absence to brag. 

And they haven’t trapped me ! ” Minty Maxwell 
squeaked, turning the pages of the nasty little notebook 
in which she kept a minute record of our every doing 
and deficiency. ‘‘ I always write down in here the 
date of the last repetition, so I know pretty well about 
when the next will follow. I’m going off to practise, 
and I advise you to do the same. But do as you like, 
I don’t care,” she added with a sniffle that was another 
of her aggravating traits. 

Go practise, the lot of you ! ” commandingly roared 
Emily Glover, who, not being a musician, had nothing 
to fear. 

And the lot went, for these Britishers, so arrogantly 
defiant of the mildest foreign rule, succumbed with 
surprising meekness to a bully of their own nationality. 

‘‘ You needn’t worry,” Elizabeth Gardner consol- 
ingly said in reply to my fear that I might be asked 
to play. ** Madame Van Pelt rarely calls upon new 
girls. But look out for the next time! ” 


104 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


'"A VOS places, mesdemoiselles! '' the authoritative 
voice of Mademoiselle Malaise sharply interrupted. 

This was the first time since the day of our arrival 
that Tad and I had been inside the grand salon, and 
as it burst upon us on this festive occasion, it seemed a 
bewildering blaze of splendor. 

The candles in the great chandelier of crystal pen- 
dants and in all the sconces of the paneled walls were 
alight and reflected themselves in the big mirror over 
the carved mantel, and in the polished floor and shin- 
ing furniture, until the whole place seemed filled with 
softly glowing points of light. 

The professors of music stood grouped near the 
shining Erard, pulled out into the room. Behind, on 
chairs arranged in a ceremonious semicircle, sat 
Madame Van Pelt in dull satin, with a bandeau of rich 
lace falling from the soft waves of her dark hair. 
Madame Van Pelt came from Bruges, the city of beau- 
tiful women. Next to Madame Van Pelt came Made- 
moiselle Touchard, exquisitely elegant in a gown of 
black silk with a single tea-rose in its creamy fichu. 
Then Madame Richelieu, the vivacious, black-eyed 
maitresse de chant, and beside her a meek little niece 
accompanist, with a thin, dark face that looked as 
though cut out of hard gingerbread with a very sharp 
knife. 

In the place of honor, alone, in the exact center of 
the stiff -backed sofa, sat in queenly state our maitresse 


A REPETITION 


105 


de maintien, Madame Capello, instructor of princesses, 
arrayed in purple velvet with deep crimson roses on her 
bosom and a bunch of jeweled ostrich tips waving in 
her puffed and coroneted hair. 

She was smiling, as we were supposed to smile, but, 
oh, what a vigilant eye she kept upon us, as, bearing 
well in mind heads up, waists in, shoulders back,” 
we bowed ourselves into the room and with measured 
stateliness advanced to seat ourselves upon the uphol- 
stered stools arranged for our accommodation in the 
center of the room. 

‘‘ Mademoiselle Leopoldine Van Der Schrick ! ” 
Madame Van Pelt, after a whispered conference with 
the professors, swished softly forward to announce. 

Mademoiselle Leopoldine Van Der Schrick, a strip- 
ling aristocrat, rose, bowed, presented to la directrice 
her music, played well the selection, rose, bowed, and 
returned to her seat — all the while smiling as though 
the part afforded her exquisite delight. 

The Belgians who followed, likewise deported them- 
selves with jeune fille distinction. The one exception 
was Juliette de Rameau, the pretty little hoyden niece 
of the duchess, who dropped her music, missed her 
notes, and was sent from the piano, with Madame 
Capello glaring horror and Madame Van Pelt ag- 
grievedly exclaiming, “ Juliette — ah, Juliette ! ” 

All the fault of la robe de ma cousine Emmeline! ” 
Juliette wept as she stumbled back to her mates. It 


io6 SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

was so long in the skirt and of a tightness impossible 
of sleeve! Tiens!'' 

The Britishers conducted themselves with their usual 
dignified propriety. Ailsie Dunmire, who was a ter- 
rible giggler, was seized with a spasm during the ren- 
dition of a ** Lieder ohne Worte,’^ but managed to 
turn it into a fit of coughing. And Roberta Wilcox, 
who infuriated her enemies by living largely up to 
her boasting, performed with a brilliancy to bring 
glory on Britain. 

‘‘ I now call upon a demoiselle,’’ Madame Van Pelt 
said with her most ingratiating manner, after Roberta 
had returned to her seat, who has made gratifying 
progress during the short time she has been with us. 
We now give ourselves the pleasure to hear ‘ L’Air 
Louis Treize,’ by Mademoiselle Adelaide Louise Mon- 
roe. 

The awful shock of this unexpected announcement 
nearly threw me backward off my stool and brought 
poor Tad to her feet gasping a very peu distingue “ O 
my!” 

Tad as a musician was quite as bad as she was a 
French scholar. Her music master had put her back 
first thing on the five-finger exercises. A governess 
superintended her practice, and in spite of herself she 
made progress, with the result that she was held up 
at our first repetition as a show card. It was awful. 


A REPETITION 


107 


But Tad was true blue, and in a saucy, independent 
way especially her own, she rose, bowed, and presented. 
All went well till she reached the piano, where the 
stool had been lowered to accommodate the slim height 
of Miss Wilcox. Tad gave the stool a bold twirl to 
send it higher, seated herself hard, and down the 
treacherous screw dropped her with a whack that must 
have been a fearful jar to her spine. 

Governesses flew to the rescue, got Tad to her feet, 
rescrewed the stool, restored the scattered music, and 
Tad, in a splendid spirit of bravado, sat down and 
played “ L’Air Louis Treize with a dash that sur- 
prised even her teacher. 

Elizabeth Gardner played a difficult transcription 
with a brilliancy that proved her sister Katherine right 
when she called her the best player in the school. 
Katherine herself had a mellow contralto voice and a 
little dimple that, when she sang, twinkled bewitchingly 
close to her smiling lips and made me think that of 
all the charms the most charming was a beautiful 
voice with a dimple near the lips. And Claire de 
Miron rippled off a delightful something with a pearli- 
ness of touch that was exactly like a music box. 

But the star of the repetition was Tania La Chapelle. 
Tania never practised in the sense that the rest of us 
did, but she played by ear better than any one else 
who spent hours over difficult etudes. Her selection 


io8 SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

on this occasion was a waltz-caprice composed by 
Monsieur Lucien Villeneuve, first maUre de musique, 
and given to only his most advanced pupils. 

It was not easy to play, and what did that dreamy 
Tania do but swing off the whole thing by heart in 
a key entirely different from the original ! 

The professors cried Bravo ! ” the girls applauded, 
and Monsieur Leon Gilbert presented her with the big 
bunch of Parma violets he wore thrust in the bosom 
of his loose tunic coat. 

“ Bravo ! Bravo ! ’’ a silvery voice laughed, fol- 
lowed by a sound of delicate clapping, and I lifted as- 
tonished eyes to see standing in the doorway of the 
salon gris the beautiful blonde of the day of my ar- 
rival. 

She was imperiously handsome in a trailing crimson 
velvet with snowy neck and shoulders shining through 
a scarf of filmy lace, and in her yellow hair a jeweled 
comb that dazzled one to look at. So splendid was 
she that she actually made our grand teacher of de- 
portment look pale and insignificant by contrast. 

Madame Van Pelt, who plainly expected her, wel- 
comed her with graceful effusion, the professors 
bristled into interested activity, and Monsieur Gilbert 
gallantly escorted her to a fautenil pushed into a posi- 
tion of isolated prominence, where she smilingly seated 
herself to listen to the remainder of the repetition. 

But where was the sad-eyed girl that I looked to 


A REPETITION 


109 


follow? Why was she not with her mother? She 
could not be ill, for the beautiful blonde was listening 
to the rendition of the pupils with untroubled interest. 
And surely, oh, surely, mon amie had gone to no other 
school, for if she had, would the mother be here? 

After the concert she remained for a few moments 
in light conversation with Madame Van Pelt. How I 
longed for the courage to address her, to ask for news 
of the girl who had so captured my pitying interest 1 

‘‘ Who is that beautiful lady? ” I asked of the Gard- 
ners when, the visitors gone, somebody started a deux 
pas and maids appeared with petits four and lait 
d'amands. 

“ A friend of the house — a mother, probably, with 
a daughter to place,’’ the Gardners replied as they 
glided away together in the swing of an American 
waltz. 

I was standing alone and thinking rather discon- 
solately about mon amie whom my heart was set upon 
befriending, and whom I seemed to be persistently 
foiled in meeting, when up to me tripped Claire de 
Miron with a smiling : “ The salon is so warm and 

crowded. Come make with me a little promenade in 
the corridor.” 

Claire and I by this time had become quite friendly. 
She lent me textbooks, helped with my studies, sup- 
plied me generously with the confitures and the Flemish 
currant bread that came in her weekly hampers from 


no 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


home, and I was constantly finding in my desk dainty 
surprises of flowers, pates, and chocolate, accompanied 
by the now extremely familiar rose-pink notes. In- 
deed, so decided an institution had the pink notes be- 
come that never a day that I did not receive one signed 
** Ta Claire bien devouee” 

Only that morning had Suky Sikes slipped into my 
hand one in which a coming surprise was hinted at. 

Something,” Claire said, ‘‘ designed to make me un 
grand plaisirf' 

But in spite of all these things I did not become as 
attached to Claire de Miron as I thought I should be. 
In the first place I never thought of her except as 
Elizabeth Gardner’s friend, and again, though Claire 
was so pretty and refined and studious, I sometimes 
found her just the least bit tiresome. 

Perhaps this was because she was so monotonously 
amiable. The Gardners were amiable, but they could 
frown and scold when they weren’t pleased, and if a 
girl behind me wiped her pen on my hair, or stuck the 
heated point of a lead pencil into my cheek for the 
fun of seeing me jump, I could be very disagreeable. 

But nothing ever seemed to ruffle Claire de Miron. 
No matter when you looked at her, nor under what 
circumstances, her lips (she had rather a large mouth, 
beautifully curved) were pressed close in the serenest 
of smiles, and I am positive there were times when she 
must have been furiously angry. 


A REPETITION 


III 


But all this doesn’t mean that I didn’t find Claire 
an agreeable companion and wasn’t pleased to walk 
and talk with her. 

We were pushing our way this evening of the 
repetition through the frolicking dancers, and had just 
reached a clear space on the outskirts of the salon 
gris, when who should I see coming swiftly toward us 
and smiling radiantly, as one sure of a welcome smiles, 
but Elizabeth Gardner. 

The longer I knew Elizabeth, the lovelier I thought 
her. I know it is dreadfully hackneyed to compare any 
one to an angel, but never did I see Elizabeth Gard- 
ner’s face that I did not think of an angel looking at 
some beautiful vision through Elizabeth’s eyes and 
smiling upon it with Elizabeth’s lips. 

As she moved toward us, her glowing eyes were 
looking not at me but full upon Claire, as though she 
had thought for no one else. And this brings me to 
the incident that so often after puzzled and distressed 
me. 

Just as I was about to exclaim, “ Here comes Eliza- 
beth ! ” Claire gave my arm a sharp jerk, and with an 
imperative Viens! ” she pulled me into the corridor. 
And when I next saw Elizabeth she was sitting alone 
near the carved chimney-piece with an expression in 
her beautiful eyes that cut me to the heart. 

Look, Claire ! ” I exclaimed. ‘‘ Something is the 
matter with Elizabeth ! Let us go to her ! ” 


II2 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Claire followed my glance, and with a little cry she 
ran to Elizabeth, and throwing her arms about her, 
she purred and cooed over her, repeatedly kissing 
her, as though in a panic of sympathy with her friend’s 
distress. 

But Elizabeth, instead of responding to these affec- 
tionate caresses, coldly turned away and met every 
advance with a silence and an indifference so marked 
that Claire had no choice but to leave her. 

Claire made a movement to draw me away, but I 
would have stayed with Elizabeth, had she not turned 
to me with an appealing : “ Please go, Sherida ! I 

would rather you didn’t stay ! ” 

Unwillingly enough I went with Claire, and up and 
down the wide corridor she and I walked together 
with arms entwined, for somehow when with Claire I 
unconsciously fell into her demonstrative ways. But 
my heart was with Elizabeth, and, do what I would, 
my thoughts persistently turned to her instead of lis- 
tening to Claire’s light chatter. 

Each time we passed the open doorway I could 
see Elizabeth sitting alone in the chimney-corner with 
her sweet face white and strained and her teeth pressed 
hard against her underlip, as though she was struggling 
to keep back tears. And for one I was in a rage with 
Claire, who never once looked Elizabeth’s way, but 
kept up her laughing chitchat as though her friend’s 
sorrow was not of the slightest import to her. 


A REPETITION 


113 


What could be the trouble with Elizabeth ? I asked 
myself this again and again during that tiresome walk. 
She seemed neither angry nor offended, but she cer- 
tainly was hurt. Could it be that she was jealous of 
Claire's friendship for me? I could not bear to think 
this of one so sweet as Elizabeth, but it seemed the 
only explanation. 

Oh, for a friend all of my own at that moment! 
Perhaps if I had had mon amie she might have helped 
me solve this perplexing problem. But her I plainly 
was doomed never to meet. 

The Gardners' maid came soon after this, and as 
Elizabeth passed Claire and me on the way down-stairs 
with her sister, she called softly, with her usual smil- 
ing graciousness : ‘‘ Good-night, Sherida ! Bonne 

nuit, Claire ! " 


CHAPTER VIII 


A DAY AT THE DE MIRONS' 

A t early breakfast the morning following Claire 
de Miron's departure to spend a few days with 
her family in celebration of her jour de fete, 
Madame Van Pelt made the delightful announcement 
that Tad and I and Tania and Ailsie, and the rest of 
our British chums, were invited to spend the day at the 
de Mirons' home in the country. 

This was the surprise hinted at in the little pink 
note ‘‘ to make me un grand plaisir” 

“ It's just the jolliest place and we’ll have the j oi- 
liest time! " was Ailsie's glowing tribute, as the lot of 
us scampered away to get ready. 

Escorted by Madame Van Pelt and the grand Sarah 
Siddons Leigh — her scarlet shawl replaced by a jet- 
beplastroned mantle, and her Byronic curls crowned 
with a big be-feathered hat — we took train, and after 
a short ride through a flat country of green meadow- 
lands, lazy canals, pretty red-roofed cottages, and pic- 
turesque fat cows, we arrived at a little rustic sta- 
tion. 

Two dignified footmen quickly packed us in a couple 


A DAY AT THE DE MIRONS’ 115 

of roomy carriages with the de Miron coat of arms 
blazing on the door-panels, and we were soon swiftly 
rolling down a broad stone-paved road lined with tall 
poplars growing beside the limpid waters of a slow- 
moving canal. 

** I adore this old road and this sleepy old canal that 
crawls along right into Holland,” Ailsie said, as side 
by side we enjoyed our lovely country drive. 

The day was a rare one, clear and crisply dry, as 
so often happens before winter has really come to stay, 
with the grass in spots still brightly green, and the 
trees, from which the leaves had not yet entirely fallen, 
splendid masses of yellow and russet-brown. 

Presently, on the far side of the canal, we saw rising 
a brick wall so high that the upper branches only of 
the great trees on the other side reached above the 
top. 

** This wall encloses the de Miron estate. It is a 
magnificent property, one of the show places of our 
country,” Madame Van Pelt said. 

The place must have been dreadfully large, for dur- 
ing our drive of several minutes the wall remained un- 
broken, save at intervals by an arched gateway that 
showed a park-like vista inside, or by openings to let 
a blustering little waterfall pour itself into the canal. 

The canal, by and by, disappeared in a tunnel, and 
we rumbled over a bridge where the brick wall sud- 
denly terminated in a low facade of gray stone that 


ii6 SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

stood in a direct line with the road and was as flat as 
the wall itself. 

“ There’s the chateau ! That’s where the de Mirons 
live ! ” Ailsie exclaimed, giving me a forward push. 

Never in my life was I so surprised and disappointed. 
I had pictured a chateau as a splendid thing of towers 
and turrets and balconies and drawbridges and float- 
ing flags. But this ugly stretch of drabbish stone, with 
its flat face pierced by rows of narrow iron-barred 
windows and a single dungeon-like door, suggested a 
prison or a fortress. 

But what a transformation when we passed through 
the vaulted carriage-way and emerged on the opposite 
side! It was like being lifted into another world — 
this being brought from the bleak exterior into the 
heart of a beautiful Belgian home. 

We stepped from the carriages to find ourselves in 
a large, glass-domed enclosure paved in octagons of 
black and white marble. In the center a fountain 
splashed and gurgled into a big basin filled with fish 
and water-ferns, and an enormous grapevine, from 
which still hung luscious purple clusters, covered the 
glass walls on the inside, softening the sunlight and 
throwing lovely tremulous shadows everywhere. 

Scattered about the marble floor were soft rugs and 
easy-chairs and pretty tables covered with books and 
needlework, as though people really lived in this 
entrancing place. 


A DAY AT THE DE MIRONS’ 117 

Through the many doorways opening off this cen- 
tral court we glimpsed shining floors and snowy win- 
dow-draperies and the pretty bits of life and color 
that 'go to the making of charming living-rooms. 

“ I shouldn’t care to live here. It must be an awful 
draughty place in winter,” I heard whiningly sniffled 
behind my back. 

‘‘ Too choppy ! Lacks solidity ! Chiltonhurst 
Manor, where we live when papa’s at home, is my idea 
of a gentleman’s house,” was the airy observation of 
another familiar. 

Claire’s dear little Flemish mother, in a muslin 
house-gown of antiquated frills and paniers, long tas- 
seled earrings, and a pink rose in her elaborately puffed 
and braided hair, welcomed us with gracious smiles; 
and Claire, very stylish and youngladyish in a toilette 
with a train, had a charming greeting for everybody, 
and for me a rapturous embrace that I found extremely 
embarrassing, knowing that upon me were fixed the 
eyes of all the Britishers in scorn of what they held 
to be foreign ‘‘ flubbygub.” 

‘‘ Elizabeth ? ” queried the little mother with an in- 
quiring peer into the carriage from which the last one 
of us had just stepped. 

‘‘ Elizabeth is interested in grander doings these days 
than the fete of poor little me,” Claire lightly trans- 
lated for me the explanation in Flemish she had made 
her mother. 


ii8 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


In the background stood a handsome old woman, 
whose wide-spreading skirts and lace cap with cu- 
riously twisted ear-ornaments made her look exactly 
like paintings I had seen in the Brussels gallery of a 
Dutch burgomaster’s wife. 

This picturesque old dame I easily guessed was 
Trinka, the old Flemish nurse Claire talked about so 
much. She was surrounded by round-eyed little boys 
in baggy velvet suits with collars of Van Dyck lace, 
and bashful little girls in very stiff and very short white 
muslin frocks with colored sashes. 

I knew all about these nine little brothers and sis- 
ters, who as yet spoke no language but Flemish, and 
had the queerest names — Amand, Li vine, Joost, Dago- 
bert, Pepin, and others equally strange. 

Each child, at a word from the nurse, came timidly 
forward, gave us all in turn a limp little hand to shake, 
and then scurried back to the protection of the nurse’s 
voluminous skirts. 

After we girls had taken off our hats and jackets, 
which were carried away by two white-capped maids, 
we were brought into a bright little room that had 
wide glass doors opening off the sunny, vine-dappled 
court, and, on the opposite side, long French windows 
overlooking a far-stretching vista of park. 

“ This is our breakfast-room,” Claire explained to 
me with clinging arms about my waist. ‘‘ But in pleas- 


A DAY AT THE DE MIRONS’ 119 

ant weather we prefer to take our morning coffee in 
the court. It is so pleasant to hear the fountain 
splashing, and when the grapes are ripe one has only 
to reach up to pull a beautiful bunch.’’ 

In this snug little breakfast-room we were served 
with hot chocolate, deliciously creamy and sweet, and 
tiny fresh-baked buns, all oozy with cinnamon and 
sugar. 

Roberta Wilcox, who devoured seven at least of 
these buns, I heard later remark to a compatriot, 
“ They were fearfully heavy, but one must be polite.” 

Maman says perhaps you would like to make a 
little tour of the chateau before dinner,” Claire sug- 
gested after everybody had been well refreshed and 
rested. 

“ It is really an interesting old place,” Ailsie found 
a chance to say to me. It is ever and ever so old and 
is full of curious things.” 

All the de Miron children, accompanied by their 
nurse, went with us, and though they were too bash- 
ful to speak or even look our way, they performed 
their little parts as hosts by running ahead to open 
doors and silently attract our attention to whatever 
they thought likely to interest us. 

One of them, Ghislaine, a handsome girl of ten, 
entertained us hugely by sliding down banisters and 
standing on dangerous projections, to the terror of 


120 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


her poor little mother, and disapproval of Madame 
Van Pelt, who made no pretense of seeing anything 
amusing in behavior so peu distingue. 

The chateau St. Jean de Miron, the principal part at 
least, once had been a famous monastery, and what 
was left of it was over two hundred years old. One 
never would guess from the outside that the chateau 
was so big and rambling. I certainly should have been 
lost had I gone about by myself, so immense were the 
rooms, and in such numbers. 

The salon, which was as big as a town hall, and as 
bare, had tall Gothic windows like a cathedral, and 
the chimney-piece was of carved Flemish oak that 
Madame Van Pelt said was almost as splendid as some 
of the pulpit carvings in the Antwerp churches. 

The ceiling, too, was Gothic, made of rafters black 
with age and hung with tattered flags so high up that 
one could barely guess the colors. 

These old flags have served in I couldn’t tell how 
many famous wars in the history of our country,” 
Claire answered in reply to our many questions. 
“ They’ve always hung there among the spider webs. 
I suppose in time they’ll drop to pieces and that will 
be the end of them.” 

“ Has Claire told you that this beautiful hall was 
once the monks’ refectory? And has she shown you 
the indentations made by the monks’ naked feet ? ” 
Madame Van Pelt asked, calling us over to show us 


A DAY AT THE DE MIRONS’ 121 


in the stone flooring the curious hollows beneath where 
the monks’ tables once had stood. 

We next climbed a crumbling old tower, the most 
ancient part of the building, and from there we reached 
a big -flat roof where in the cornice were pointed out 
the slits through which the soldier-monks sent down 
caldrons of flaming pitch on the heads of the enemy 
who were seeking to get at the treasures in the cloister 
vaults. 

On this roof Ghislaine brought herself into prom- 
inence by running out upon a narrow string-piece from 
which, but for her mother’s terrified protest, she would 
have flung herself out in mid-air by the hands. 

What fun to have seen her do it ! I wish her 
mother hadn’t interfered!” Tad disgustedly confided 
to me. 

Claire said that the cellars under the house were 
full of secret passageways, but we were not taken to 
visit them, much to my regret. 

We have to keep the doors of the underground 
cellars carefully locked on account of the children,” 
Claire explained. “ Some of those passageways lead 
far out of the village.” 

And very necessary they were in the days when 
the poor monks had to flee for their lives,” Madame 
Van Pelt added. 

The de Miron bedrooms, bare and comfortless to 
American eyes, once had been monks’ cells, and the 


122 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


high ceilings, naked white walls, and big wooden beds 
under chilly muslin draperies, gave one the shivers 
just to see. 

‘‘ What a difference between them and our pretty 
bedrooms at home! ” I whispered to Tad. 

Attached to the outsides of many of these bedroom 
windows were small looking-glasses, tipped so that 
while lying in bed one could see who was at the front 
door or coming down the road. 

** Les miroirs espions are convenient when you don’t 
want to see certain people coming to call,” Claire 
laughed. 

Believe me or not, as you please, but it’s just plain 
spying, that’s what it is — believe me or not, as you 
please,” Pat Mack buzzily whispered at our backs. 

Pleasanter than the bedrooms was the nursery, once 
an ancient picture gallery, where the high ceiling still 
showed traces of elaborate frescoing. 

In this big sunny room we saw the three youngest 
de Mirons — a pair of toddling twins in short-waisted, 
long-skirted frocks, and on their heads rubber caps 
inflated with air to prevent bumps on the wooden floor. 
The baby, which was a tiny thing of a few months, was 
swathed like a mummy and tied with white ribbons to 
a lace pillow that rested on the knees of a young nurse 
knitting beside a long, low casement-window with a 
row of scarlet geraniums on the sill. 

The actual living-rooms connected with the home 


A DAY AT THE DE MIRONS’ 123 

part of the chateau were all as comfortable and cozy 
as any one could wish. They mostly centered around 
the glass-enclosed court, and were, Claire said, com- 
paratively recent, having been built within the last 
hundred years. 

‘‘ Pretty ancient for America! ” Tad and I laughed. 

‘‘ But not for England I ” Roberta Wilcox observed 
in her superior way. ‘‘ Chiltonhurst Manor, where 
we live when papa’s at home, dates back farther than 
the Crusades.” 

Maman is not going to let you escape seeing her 
pets,” Claire playfully announced, as her mother led 
us into a beautiful glass pagoda filled with gayly feath- 
ered birds, some of them so tame that they perched 
on their mistress’s shoulder to peck sugar from her 
lips. 

Among this collection was a big gray parrot called 
Croquemitaine, supposed to be two hundred years 
old. But as his sole accomplishment was speaking 
Flemish, and he was too lazy to do even that, we were 
not impressed. 

‘‘ I tell maman that she thinks more of that cross 
old parrot than she does of the baby,” Claire roguishly 
remarked. She’s had the bird longer, at any rate.” 

We dined in the monks’ library, which was com- 
paratively small, with frescoed walls and painted 
Gothic windows, and was made homelike and snug 
with rugs, screens, and portieres. 


124 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


At dinner, for the first time, we saw Claire’s father. 
He was a big, handsome man, with curly hair, black 
eyes, and splendid ruddy complexion. Ghislaine was 
exactly like him. 

But he wasn’t the least bit my idea of a baron. I 
was looking for the kind that sits in a great oaken 
chair and roars, Bring on the wassail cup ! ” 

This baron, though so big and handsome, was sun- 
burned and rough-looking, and he barely had been 
presented to us when he announced, in a voice to shake 
the rafters, that he had been out in the fields helping 
his men since four in the morning. 

He seemed immensely proud of himself as a farmer, 
and all during the meal kept informing us that the 
bread on his table was made from wheat of his grow- 
ing, the butter was produced from cows of his raising, 
the meats were fattened on his land, the vegetables 
came from his hothouses, the fruits likewise were his. 

He was much interested to learn that Tad and I 
were from America, and, spearing upon his fork a 
huge mealy potato, demanded to know if America 
could produce potatoes like that. Tad and I were 
also much embarrassed to have him ask us what we 
thought of the fruit crop of the West, and if in our 
opinion American wheat was superior to that of Rus- 
sia. 

The dinner was a banquet of fifteen courses of all 
sorts of the loveliest foreign things. The only dish 


A DAY AT THE DE MIRONS’ 125 


I couldn’t eat was a ragout of hare, that, instead of 
salt, was seasoned with powdered sugar. 

After dinner, which was an affair of nearly two 
hours, we were taken for a walk through the park — 
a beautiful spot of lakes and waterfalls and rustic 
bridges and woods, that in the spring, Claire said, 
were great bouquets of violets and lilies of the valley. 

The children came with us, and the irrepressible 
Ghislaine ran ahead and climbed trees like a cat, her 
dark face peeping roguishly between the branches until 
we came up, when down she dropped, and with a run 
and a leap was up the next tree. 

When we came to the stables and were being shown 
the pavilion that had a real ring for horseback prac- 
tice, Ghislaine suddenly appeared on the bare back of 
a fiery little pony and several times dashed round the 
ring standing, to be approvingly patted on the back by 
her father when he lifted her down. 

Monsieur de Miron pointed with pride to the wide 
stretches of orchard and vineland and meadow that 
comprised his estate, and broke into a splendid eulogy 
upon Belgium being the best cultivated and most pro- 
ductive country for its size in the world. 

‘‘ We make every square inch of land produce some- 
thing. Can you say that of your country? ” he roared 
at poor Tad and me. 

While Monsieur de Miron was talking a young man 
came riding up on a big gray horse across one of 


126 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


the wide fields, in our direction. He was a splendid- 
looking young fellow with a serious, resolute face, 
softened by kindly brown eyes, and after he had gone, 
and Monsieur de Miron with him, to look after some 
matter of mutual interest, Claire told me he was the 
Count Henri van der Velde, whose estate joined theirs. 

And she pointed out to me in the distance the tur- 
rets of his chateau, which were just visible above a 
belt of tall trees standing on a high hill. 

‘‘The young Count van der Velde has completed 
his education at one of our great universities but a 
few months since,’' Claire said. “ His parents want 
him to be a senator but he prefers farming. That’s 
why papa likes him so much. They are hobnobbing 
together all day long like two boys.” 

One trait of Claire’s that I sincerely admired was 
her devotion to her family, and especially her mother. 
She looked at this little mother so tenderly, she seemed 
so proud of her, and, whenever she stood near, placed 
her arms about her in the prettiest protecting way. 

I came as near to loving Claire that day as I ever 
did in all the days I had known her. 

“ Maman is charmed with you,” Claire told me after- 
ward. “ And she is so pleased that you and I are such 
dear friends.” 

This remark, of course, was very nice and flattering, 
and it did seem ridiculous for me not to like it. But, 
in some way that I couldn’t define, it gave me an un- 


A DAY AT THE DE MIRONS’ 127 

comfortable feeling that Claire was disloyal to Eliza- 
beth Gardner, and that I was, too. 

Claire capped this long day of favoritism by spiriting 
me away from the others while Madame de Miron 
was filling their arms with flowers from her private 
hothouse. 

Claire’s excuse to get me away was to show me one 
of her haunts, a bower of almond bushes and honey- 
suckle growing beside a stream that had a cascade 
crossed by a rustic bridge. 

“ It’s where Elizabeth and I always come for a 
little chat. It is the first time she has missed my jour 
de fete since I have known her,” she sighed so deeply 
that I quickly returned a sympathetic : ‘‘ I think 

Elizabeth might have come for your fete day. It is 
not like her to be so selfish.” 

‘‘ Let us talk no more about it,” Claire said gently 
as she led the way to the little bridge. 

Here, as we leaned on the railing watching the 
water rippling over the pebbles, Claire told me, in 
that laughing-sweet voice of hers, that she wanted to 
be really good friends with me during the coming 
term, and proposed, as a sort of bond between us, that 
we should carry on a little correspondence in French. 

“ Like the correspondence between Madame de 
Sevigne and her daughter, Madame Grignan,” Claire 
suggested. “ Only, of course,” she explained, “ our 
letters will be as between two girl friends. It will be 


128 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


perfectly lovely for both of us. My style needs im- 
proving, and a little correspondence of that kind will 
do wonders for your French.’’ 

I was delighted with Claire’s plan, which was not 
an unusual one between the pupils of the Pensionnat 
Van Pelt. In fact, the idea was encouraged for their 
improvement by the teachers. Letter-writing was an 
exercise that I dearly loved, and as readily as Claire 
I saw the advantages for acquiring proficiency in the 
language I was so anxious to master. 

Moreover, an interest of this kind would make the 
friendship between Claire and myself worth while, 
for by this time I fully realized that it was impossible 
for me to respond in the sentimental way Claire liked. 

I was smiling with pleasure when I returned to the 
others, and almost defiantly met the English girls’ 
cold stare of disapproval for taking myself off in this 
particular way. 

It was dark before home was suggested, but Madame 
de Miron, who seemed to think schoolgirls were al- 
ways hungry, had the j oiliest little supper of salads 
and sandwiches and fancy cakes served with new 
milk, ready for us in the breakfast-room. 

Baskets heaped with nuts were then brought in, and 
all the little St. Jean de Miron children proceeded to 
fill our hands and pockets and became so excited over 
the business that they actually forgot their timidity 
and gigglingly stuffed nuts in our glove-fingers. 


A DAY AT THE DE MIRONS’ 129 


Carriages were announced, good-bys were said, and 
off in the darkness, down the stone-paved, poplar- 
lined road we hurried to catch our train, into which 
we tumbled, too tired and sleepy to pass so much as a 
single comment on the events of our long and happy 
day. 


CHAPTER IX 

SYLVIA DE BROOKE 

THINK the father and mother of Claire de Mi- 
I ron just perfectly splendid. They are so hos- 
pitable and simple-hearted, so different from 
the grand creatures I imagined a baron and a baroness 
to be,’" I enthused next day to Ailsie Dunmire, as arm 
in arm we promenaded the chestnut terrace. 

Ailsie and I were the best of friends in a comfort- 
able, matter-of-fact way. Though she was the niece 
of a great earl, and proud enough, too, on occasion, 
she belonged to a poor branch of the family, which 
was doubtless the reason why she was so simple and 
unaffected when you knew her. 

‘‘ Oh, the St. Jean de Mirons don’t belong to the 
great nobility! I mean their title doesn’t run back 
more than two or three hundred years,” Ailsie returned 
with all a true Britisher’s pride of caste. ‘‘ I believe 
one of her ancestors on her father’s side was only a 
plain old Flemish farmer who made his fortune rais- 
ing something or other — maybe potatoes like those 
we had yesterday for dinner. They say he got his 
130 


SYLVIA DE BROOKE 


131 

title from the king as a reward. And there you have 
the whole history of the de Miron family ! ” 

'' But her mother ? ” I suggested. 

The mother’s right enough,” Ailsie cheerily ad- 
mitted. “ She’s not of the nobility, but comes of a 
very respectable Antwerp family and enormously rich. 
I fancy her money helped a lot to make that old 
chateau fit to live in.” 

“ Well, Claire’s a lovely girl, I don’t care what her 
grandparents were ! ” I declared, with the meaning of 
being loyal in the face of any kind of family history. 

Ailsie made no answer to this, and, annoyed by her 
silence, I repeated a little more strongly, Claire de 
Miron is a lovely girl.” 

When we had completed the round of the terrace 
and were beginning on another with my remark still 
unanswered, I exclaimed wrath fully, for Ailsie’s 
Scotch obstinacy could be dreadfully aggravating: 

Ailsie Dunmire, why don’t you say something ! I 
believe in my heart you don’t like Claire de Miron. 
I’ve never heard you speak against her, but now I 
come to think of it, I’ve never heard you say a word 
in her favor. I honestly believe you don’t like her.” 

I don’t ! ” Ailsie agreed with the bluntness char- 
acteristic of her when pushed to the wall. “ I know 
she’s a snob and I’m sure she isn’t sincere. I can’t 
abide that palavering way she has. It makes me ill. 
And the way she hung around you yesterday so that 


132 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


nobody else could get near you, and then dragged 
you off to have you all to herself, was perfectly dis- 
gusting.” 

‘‘Oh, Ailsie, you jealous old thing!” I laughed. 
“ Why shouldn’t Claire be nice to me ? She and I 
are very good friends. Those little demonstrative 
ways that you dislike so much are natural to her, and 
as for yesterday, she only took me off for a few min- 
utes to arrange about us carrying on a little corre- 
spondence in French next term. I think it very kind 
of her to take so much trouble to help me.” 

“ Kind I Help you I ” Ailsie repeated with a con- 
temptuous sniff. “ She wants to get a hold on you. 
That’s how she’s kind. That’s how she wants to help 
you. The English girls all see through her and they’re 
perfectly furious.” 

“ You’re all extremely kind to take so much in- 
terest in my affairs,” I returned with freezing sar- 
casm. “ I’m very much obliged to you, Ailsie, but in 
future please don’t meddle. Well, I’m off now to 
practise.” 

“You shan’t go just yet, Sherry!” Ailsie cried in 
her determined little way when roused. “ You must 
listen to me first and then you may get as angry as 
you please. If I didn’t care for you. Sherry,” she 
continued in a softened tone, “ I wouldn’t bother with 
you. I’ve been dying to talk to you about this for 
the longest time, but Claire is always with you, so I 


SYLVIA DE BROOKE 


133 


never get a chance. I want to warn you against that 
girl. You surely must see how everybody dislikes her. 
She’s so proud. She thinks no one in the school is 
good enough for her. That makes her fawning over 
you all the more disgusting.’’ 

“ I think it’s very mean, Ailsie, the way you talk,” 
I complained in a tone of injury. ‘‘ I admit that 
Claire’s manner is rather gushing, but I can’t see how 
it’s such a crime to be fond of me.” 

“ I’m not in the least sure that she’s fond of you/* 
Ailsie returned with unflattering emphasis. ‘‘ I don’t 
believe Claire de Miron would notice anybody who 
was poor or a nobody. She’s only toadying to you 
because she thinks you’re rich.” 

“ Rich — oh, Ailsie ! ” I laughed. I’m not rich — 
not so dreadfully. I never in my life had more than 
ten dollars a month pocket money, until I came here, 
where we’re allowed only twenty-five cents,” I dis- 
gustedly added. 

“ A guinea a month may not be much to an Amer- 
ican, but it’s an awful lot to a foreigner — and an Eng- 
lish girl, too,” Ailsie returned with a little sigh that 
was half admiration, half envy. “As for Claire de 
Miron — 

“ Oh, I know I’m horridly mean and uncharitable. 
Sherry! ” she broke off with a sudden change of tone, 
turning a troubled face to mine as she drew me down 
beside her on the bench where we often sat. “ I know 


134 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


you think me disagreeable and jealous, but the truth is 
I have never had any confidence in Claire de Miron 
after the way she treated poor Sylvia de Brooke/’ 

“ Sylvia de Brooke! ” was my wondering exclama- 
tion. “ Who is Sylvia de Brooke ? ” 

“ Hasn’t Elizabeth Gardner ever told you about 
her? ” Ailsie asked. 

“ Elizabeth Gardner has never mentioned her name 
to me,” I replied. 

Well, as Claire de Miron’s friend, one could hardly 
expect her to do that,” Ailsie confessed. “ But as 
your friend. Sherry, I’m going to tell you. 

“ Sylvia de Brooke,” Ailsie went on, “ was an Eng- 
lish girl. Her father was the younger son of Lord 
de Brooke. He was a colonel in the English army. 
Well, one day the papers published a dreadful scan- 
dal about a lot of grand people cheating at cards, and 
poor Sylvia’s father’s name was among them. 

‘‘ He never defended himself, but all his friends 
knew he kept silent to shield his elder brother, who 
was heir to the title, and an awful scamp. People who 
didn’t know said awful things about poor Sylvia’s 
father; even his own father spumed him, and he had 
to resign his position in the army and go with his 
family to live on some insignificant estate in an ob- 
scure part of the country. And they’ve just been 
nobody ever since. 

Of course,” Ailsie continued after a pause to catch 


SYLVIA DE BROOKE 


135 


her breath, we Britishers never for one single minute 
believed Sylvia’s father to be guilty, and, of course, 
we never breathed a word of what we knew to any- 
body in school, outside of ourselves. Sylvia was such 
a lovely girl, and so sensitive about the disgrace 
brought upon her family, although no one was better 
convinced of her father’s innocence than she was.” 

Innocent or not, I should have stood by her through 
everything!” I hotly cried. 

‘‘ We did stand by her I ” Ailsie returned with equal 
warmth. Every Britisher in the school was Sylvia’s 
friend, and she knew it. But now comes the mean 
part of my story. 

Claire de Miron was Sylvia’s great friend. I 
never could understand it, but Claire de Miron seems 
to have the power of making persons who like her per- 
fectly infatuated with her. 

Claire seemed fond enough of Sylvia, too, for she 
was always with her and made a great fuss over her, 
just as she does about you, Sherry, and when she went 
home for the midsummer holidays last year it was 
with the understanding that Sylvia should go spend a 
month with her. 

You never saw anybody so delighted as Sylvia 
was. She could think and talk of nothing else, and 
had her box packed days before it was time to go. 
The only thing that worried her was that Claire knew 
nothing about her family disgrace. 


13 ^ 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


' Not that I think it would make the slightest dif- 
ference/ she told us. ‘ But I do not think it honor- 
able for me to visit her home without letting her know 
everything about me. I shall write and tell her the 
'whole story.’ 

We girls encouraged this, for we felt just as 
Sylvia did, and the letter was written and sent. Such 
a beautiful letter it was, in which Sylvia told all about 
the card-cheating, and her father’s innocence, and the 
disgrace and impoverishment that had come upon the 
family. She wrote with such touching confidence in 
her friend’s loyalty and affection.” 

“ There was but one answer to a letter like that ! ” 
I cried out of a heart swelling with admiration and 
pity for the brave-spirited Sylvia. 

** The answer came and Sylvia de Brooke never 
made that visit to Claire de Miron,” was Ailsie’s quiet 
reply. 

“ You mean that Claire de Miron refused to receive 
her? ” I darted at Ailsie in fierce indignation. 

** We none of us knew what was in the letter. 
Sylvia never read it to us,” Ailsie explained. ‘‘ We 
know only that it came, for we were looking for it 
as anxiously as Sylvia was. All that Sylvia ever told 
us was that she had changed her mind about visiting 
Claire. We guessed that Claire must have written 
something dreadful because Sylvia looked so miser- 
able.” 


SYLVIA DE BROOKE 


137 

“ How did Claire treat Sylvia when she came back 
to school ? I asked. 

Oh, you know Claire de Miron ! Ailsie scorn- 
fully huffed. She’s the essence of amiability and 
politeness, and Sylvia was too proud to show what she 
felt. So outwardly everything seemed the same. But 
we who knew could see the difference, and Sylvia 
couldn’t hide from us that something was wrong. 

“ She left at the end of the term and the family 
went to live on the Continent, and that’s the last we’ve 
heard of them. I should think Claire de Miron would 
never forgive herself for making poor Sylvia’s last 
days at school more unhappy than they already were.” 

''Poor Sylvia! What a cruel history, if true!” I 
commiserated. " But,” I gravely added, " don’t you 
think, Ailsie, you might be judging Claire unfairly? 
You say you never read her letter. You don’t know 
what she may have said. Perhaps her parents were to 
blame for everything. You know how particular for- 
eign parents are, and how their children are brought to 
obey. Then perhaps Sylvia may have misunderstood. 
You said she was oversensitive, you remember.” 

" Sherida Monroe ! ” Ailsie blazed out upon me with 
indignation in her wide brown eyes. " Believe this 
story or not, as you please! Be as chummy with 
Claire de Miron as you like! But, whatever you do, 
don’t — let — that — girl — make — a — goose — 
of — you! 


138 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


And she sha’n’t either, if I can prevent it ! ” my 
little Scotch friend added, quite ferociously for one of 
her easy temper. ‘‘ That’s why I’ve told you the story 
of Sylvia de Brooke.” 

Sylvia’s story did make an impression on me — a 
much deeper one than I liked to admit. Still, if this 
affair about Sylvia was as Ailsie thought, Elizabeth 
Gardner would certainly know it, and Elizabeth was 
of too noble a character to care for a girl who could 
act so contemptibly. 

I never had questioned the friendship between Eliza- 
beth and Claire. Elizabeth, like most American girls, 
was not effusive, but Claire was effusive enough for 
both, and the two girls were constantly together. That 
is, we three were, for both Claire and Elizabeth seemed 
to take it for granted that I should be one of them, 
and I joined them in all their walks and talks until 
we were spoken of in the school as les inseparables. 

We were such pleasant friends and the combination 
was so harmonious that I began to feel a little unkindly 
toward Ailsie for dragging in the ghost of Sylvia de 
Brooke to puzzle and torment me. 

Did I really care for Claire de Miron? Not in the 
way that I cared for Elizabeth Gardner, that was sure. 
I had a very tender affection for Elizabeth, and now 
that I honestly questioned myself, I saw plainly that 
Elizabeth, and not Claire, was the tie that bound our 
little trio together. 


SYLVIA DE BROOKE 


139 


Claire I found congenial in many ways. She was 
refined and serious, and we both liked the same books, 
were interested in the same studies. But my heart was 
never touched. Ailsie might know this for her com- 
fort. 

Meanwhile I would say nothing, do nothing, that 
would spoil the relations between Claire, Elizabeth, and 
myself, and some day, if I ever saw the chance, I 
would ask Elizabeth Gardner to tell me the story of 
Sylvia de Brooke. 


CHAPTER X 


ELIZABETH CONFIDES 

M idwinter holidays were approaching, and 
the girls, in season and out, were knitting fast 
and furiously the stockings and petticoats and 
shawls for la Distribution des Pauvres, that was part 
of the Christmas entertainment. 

Tad and I were in the town buying presents to send 
home, and, our purchases made, we wheedled Fraulein 
Zipp, our good-natured little chaperone, to let us have 
hot chocolate and des galettes. 

We stepped into the nearest place, which was the 
glass-enclosed garden of a fashionable hotel, and had 
just given our order when Tad poked me sharply to 
say, ‘‘ Aren’t those the people we saw in the salon the 
day we came ? ” 

I lifted quick eyes to see, reflected in the large glass 
facing, mon amie seated at a table spread with an 
elaborate luncheon of rich dishes and sparkling wine. 
She was with her mother, who looked wonderfully 
handsome in a lacy costume and a large white hat cov- 
ered with roses. 

Mon amie wore a white hat, too, though not so large 
140 


ELIZABETH CONFIDES 141 

nor so gayly trimmed, and she had red roses pinned 
to her jacket. She was very elegant and stylish, but 
on the whole I liked her better in the simple costume 
in which I had first seen her in the pensionnat salon. 

A lot of officers in brilliant uniform sat with her 
and her mother, and while the mother chatted and 
laughed with a girlish abandon that seemed vastly to 
please the men, mon amie was almost disdainfully 
silent, although a big showy man, not an officer, next 
to her paid her assiduous attentions, and the mother 
several times leaned over to whisper what I felt sure 
was a sharp admonition. 

The glimpse of mon amie in the restaurant destroyed 
once and for all my hope of her ever becoming a 
pupil of the Pensionnat Van Pelt. I realized that she 
was not a schoolgirl, but a fashionable young lady in 
high life who would probably smile contemptuously 
had she known of my romantic desire to befriend 
her. 

I was just becoming reconciled to my disappoint- 
ment and had resolved to make the best of Elizabeth 
and Claire, when suddenly, with the swift violence of 
a storm-cloud that blots out all the sunshine, came 
for me the most sorrowful news. The Gardners were 
going to leave! 

They were going to Russia — to its brilliant capital, 
where they intended to live. Elizabeth did not tell 
me what it was that was taking them away, though 


142 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


she hinted that she hoped to be free to do so later. 
Both she and Katherine were much elated over the 
prospect of travel and the gay times before them. 

My sorrow was the selfish one of regret at losing 
Elizabeth, and though we had promised to correspond 
and to be friends all our lives, I dreaded to think of 
how lonely my days would be without her. 

Then again, I was troubled to know how I was to 
bear alone the burden of Claire de Miron’s friendship, 
for burden it fast was growing to be. 

Oh, how tired I was of those silly little rose-pink 
notes ! And even the correspondence we had planned 
as a pastime she had managed to make a bore by over- 
whelming me with twice-a-day effusions to which she 
exacted prompt replies. 

Already I had used up every sheet of the beautiful 
plaid note-paper we had brought from America and 
had begun to steal from Tad’s supply. 

Three days before the Christmas entertainment, at 
which the Gardners were to leave, Elizabeth, Claire, 
and I were walking together in the burgomaster’s gar- 
den. It was very pleasant in the old garden. The 
place was full of twittering sparrows, all the flowers 
were not gone, and the fallen leaves still gave off a 
spicy fragrance of late summer. 

Claire, as she walked between, with our arms affec- 
tionately linked, was bewailing in tones of plaintive 
softness that never again would we three promenade 


ELIZABETH CONFIDES 


143 


together, when into the courtyard ran a little Belgian 
girl noisily shouting: ''La flute enchantee! Mon- 
sieur Villeneuve has come ! ” 

Claire played the leading part in the quartette to be 
given at the fHe de Noel, so she had to go, though she 
went under protest and with many promises to return. 

No sooner was she safely gone than Elizabeth caught 
my hand and exclaimed with a nervous eagerness that 
made her voice tremble : “ Let us go into the orchard, 

Sherida, where we can be by ourselves ! I have some- 
thing to say to you. Quick, before Claire gets back.'' 

Too much surprised by this startling display of emo- 
tion to ask a single question, I followed Elizabeth's 
swift steps into the old pear orchard, where, as soon as 
we were safe under the shelter of a rugged old poirier, 
she hurriedly said : “ It is something about Claire. 

I’ve been trying for days to tell you but I couldn't 
get a chance. Claire never leaves us a moment alone." 

More astonished than ever to hear Elizabeth speak 
in this way of one I considered her dearest friend, I 
continued to stare. 

“ I want to ask you something. Sherry," Elizabeth 
spoke in a voice broken by little gasps of nervous 
hurry. “ You remember at the repetition when I re- 
fused to walk with you and Claire ? ” 

‘‘ What did you think of me that evening? " Eliza- 
beth asked in reply to my assurance that I remembered 
all. Do you know why I acted so ? Do not mind 


144 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


telling me, because I want to hear. Did you think I 
was jealous of Claire’s friendship for you?” 

‘‘ There was nothing else to think,” I grudgingly 
admitted, for I did not like Elizabeth to know I had 
thought so meanly of her. 

“ I do not blame you,” Elizabeth hurried to say. 
“ I realize how silly I must have appeared to you. 
That is why I am going to tell you why I acted so. 
Read that.” 

Elizabeth, as she spoke, placed in my hand a little 
pink note. It was from Claire de Miron, and in it 
she said : 

Ma chere Elizabeth: Wait for me after solfege 
at the door of the courtyard. I will be there without 
fail. I am all impatience to hear what you say you 
have to tell me. 

“ Ta Claire devou^e.” 

“ I had an important confidence to give Claire,” 
Elizabeth explained as I returned the note. ‘‘ It was 
something about myself — something connected with 
our going to Russia. Claire had known for some time 
that we were going. I wanted to tell her why. I felt 
that she had the right to know. I thought, too, that 
possibly this might be our last walk together, as the 
date of our going was so undecided. I told Claire all 
this in the note I sent her, and when she came out from 
solfege (it was the day after you came), you were with 
her.” 


ELIZABETH CONFIDES 


145 

Oh, Elizabeth ! I cried out in helpless dismay. 

I did not know ! 

“ I knew that, Sherry,'^ Elizabeth generously as- 
sured me. And I made every excuse for Claire that 
I could. But I was too hurt to appoint another meet- 
ing, and as the time for us to go came nearer, I realized 
how meanly and suspiciously I was behaving. 

“ So the night of the repetition when I saw you and 
Claire together, I said to myself, ‘ If Claire wants 
Sherida for a friend why should I prevent? Why 
should not we all three be friends? I will let Claire 
understand that I mean this.’ And when I came up to 
her, all gladness because I was so sure she would un- 
derstand, she pretended not to see me.” 

“ Elizabeth ! ” I exclaimed in shocked surprise. 
“ You do not mean that Claire really saw you that 
evening ! ” 

“ I mean that Claire de Miron saw me as plainly as 
I see you now and she deliberately pretended she did 
not,” Elizabeth replied with emphatic promptness. 

‘‘ Could you not be mistaken ? ” I asked, for I found 
it hard to believe any one could so hurt Elizabeth. 

“ I know it,” Elizabeth affirmed with a decision 
that could not be doubted. ‘‘ Claire de Miron delib- 
erately pretended not to see me.” 

‘‘But why?” I persisted. “What could be her 
reason for doing so contemptible a thing? ” 

“ No reason except that she is fickle and disloyal,” 


146 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Elizabeth replied with a bitterness that showed how 
the hurt still rankled. ** I believe Claire de Miron 
utterly incapable of friendship.” 

“ I am all in the dark, Elizabeth ! ” I cried be- 
wildered. Do you mean to tell me that Claire de 
Miron doesn’t care any more for your friendship and 
took that unkind way of letting you see it? ” 

“ I don’t believe she ever really cared for me at any 
time,” Elizabeth bravely confessed. ‘‘ I believe, as 
Katherine always told me, that Claire de Miron cares 
for no one but herself. I believe she deliberately cul- 
tivates friendship where it flatters her vanity or suits 
her interest, and when it suits her purpose better she 
transfers her affection as easily as she bestows it. 

“ When I first came here after leaving school in 
America where Katherine and I were so happy,” Eliza- 
beth sadly went on with her story, “ I was miserably 
homesick and Claire did everything to make it pleas- 
ant for me. You know how kind she can be when 
she wants to. Well, I thought she was just what she 
pretended to be and I grew to believe in her and trust 
her, just as you believe in and trust her, Sherry.” 

** Oh, Elizabeth ! ” I cried, seizing her hand in my 
“eagerness to make her understand. “ You are the 
one I believe in and trust! You are first with me! 
You always have been ! You know that, don’t you? ” 
I sometimes have doubted even you. Sherry,” was 


ELIZABETH CONFIDES 


147 

Elizabeth’s sorrowful reply. Claire has made me 
so miserable. 

‘‘Do you know,” — and Elizabeth’s beautiful eyes 
filled with tears as she spoke, — “ the first real quarrel 
my sister Katherine and I ever had in all our lives 
was about Claire de Miron. Katherine never had any 
faith in her. She considers her vain and deceitful. 
But I thought Katherine was prejudiced.” 

Here Elizabeth threw her hands to her face, ex- 
claiming in a burst of tears : “ Oh, how blind I have 

been ! How stupidly, stupidly blind ! ” 

“But you care nothing for Claire now?” I asked, 
trying to draw away my friend’s hands that I might 
look into her face. “ You care nothing for Claire de 
Miron’s friendship now, Elizabeth ? ” 

“No! No!” Elizabeth cried with an emphasis 
that dried her tears. “ For a long time, — ever since 
you came. Sherry,” — she continued, turning to me a 
quiet face that showed nothing of her recent emotion 
save very bright eyes and softly flushed cheeks, “ I 
have been slowly awakening to see that Claire was not 
what I thought her, and the last spark of affection I 
had for her died once my eyes were opened to her 
real character. 

“ But I was dreadfully hurt in the beginning,” 
Elizabeth confessed after a pause, during which I 
could only smooth and pat the hand I held to express 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


148 

how sorry I was for her. ‘‘ I thought I never should 
get over it. I felt as though I never again could care 
for anybody or believe in anybody. But that feeling 
all passed away, and now I find myself wondering 
what I ever saw in Claire de Miron to admire.’' 

It’s very strange that I should have seen nothing 
of all this,” I wonderingly mused when Elizabeth had 
finished. ‘‘ I have often puzzled over what you saw 
in Claire to become so attached to her, but never once 
had I a suspicion that there was so much as an un- 
pleasant thought between you.” 

Because I took care to hide it from you,” was 
Elizabeth’s ready reply. 

My first impulse,” she explained, ‘‘ after the 
repetition affair was to denounce Claire with scorn, 
but when it came to the point I did not have the heart 
to shame her before all the girls. I knew at the long- 
est I should be here only a few months. Why then 
not keep up an appearance of friendship for that short 
time? 

You see, Sherida, I could not forget that Claire 
and I once had been dear friends, and, to tell the 
truth, after the hurt had gone out of my heart I had 
nothing left but pity.” 

Then you didn’t stay away from Claire’s jour de 
fete because you had another engagement ? ” I asked 
after a moment. 


ELIZABETH CONFIDES 


149 


“ I stayed away purposely to let Claire understand 
that all friendship between us was over/’ Elizabeth 
answered simply. 

‘‘ I wish you had told me all this sooner, Elizabeth. 
I might have been a better friend to you,” I gently 
reproached. 

“ I could not tell you,” Elizabeth returned. “ It 
seemed like treachery to breathe what I knew of Claire 
even to you. I wanted to spare her all I could. But 
how could I go away leaving you to give your friend- 
ship to one so unworthy! 

‘‘ Oh, Sherida ! ” poor Elizabeth cried, sitting 
proudly upright and looking at me with all her brave 
soul in her beautiful eyes. ‘‘ You do not know what 
it has cost me to tell you this! For weeks I have 
been struggling between my duty to you and a 
wretched sense of loyalty to Claire. But I had no 
right to sacrifice you to spare her, though it makes 
me miserable to feel that I have betrayed her.” 

“ You have betrayed nothing! ” I cried. ‘‘ You are 
all wrong about my friendship for Claire de Miron. 
I do not admire her character and I never have be- 
come truly attached to her. So you see you have done 
her no harm by telling me all this, and you have done 
me a great deal of good by putting yourself right in 
my mind. I am glad you have told me.” 

I had to tell you,” Elizabeth sadly returned, with 


150 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


her eyes downcast, as though she hadn’t the heart to 
lift them. “ It would have been contemptible not to 
have warned you. 

“ In a few days, Sherida,” Elizabeth continued, 
lifting her sweet eyes to my face, “ you and I will part 
and we may not see each other for a long, long time. 
But my last words to you are — do not trust Claire de 
Miron.” 

** I will never give my friendship where I cannot 
give my respect,” I assured Elizabeth with impressive 
gravity. 

‘‘ And now I want you to promise me something,” 
Elizabeth appealed with a pathetic little smile that was 
more touching even than her tears. “ Promise me 
that you will never breathe a word of what I have 
told you about Claire to a living soul. I have told you 
out of pure friendship to you, but I never would for- 
give myself if, through me, she was scornfully talked 
about among the girls. I do not want to hurt Claire, 
Sherry. I want only to protect you.” 

I should consider myself the most despicable crea- 
ture on earth if I betrayed your confidence, Elizabeth,” 
I assured her with an intensity almost tragical, so anx- 
ious was I to relieve her mind. 

‘‘And now, Elizabeth, I want to ask you some- 
thing,” I said when this matter was settled. “ Tell 
me what you know of Sylvia de Brooke.” 

“ I know nothing,” Elizabeth answered, as though 


ELIZABETH CONFIDES 


151 

long since wearied of the subject. “ Claire never told 
me anything, and to me it seemed like doubting her 
to ask for an explanation. In my foolish infatuation 
I refused to listen to the tales the girls told about her. 
I didn’t want to hear. It seemed like treachery to my 
friend. But now I believe that what the girls said 
was more than just suspicion.” 

Then the enfolding silence of dusk was pierced by 
a high-pitched Belgian voice shouting, “ Solfege ! ” 
and Elizabeth and I parted to go our different ways. 

So ended our confidential talk in the old playground 
orchard. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE SIXTH OF DECEMBER AND MORE 

T he Belgian Santa Claus doesn’t come down the 
chimney to fill stockings as he does in America, 
but makes his appearance in the shape of a 
handsome gingerbread goodman, who is found lying 
beside one’s plate at early breakfast. 

The girls of the Pensionnat Van Pelt welcomed the 
jolly little bonhomme by dipping the tip of his peaked 
cap in their bowls of steaming coffee and proceeding 
to devour him inch by inch with cannibalistic relish. 

He was a lovely fellow to eat, being crisp and sweet 
and flavored with honey. He was of generous size, 
too, and presented so many tempting points to nibble 
at. His nose was so big and humpy, his beard ex- 
panded so nobly, his pack was so full of nice scrunchy 
knobs and curves, and he had such beautiful big feet, 
enough for two good bites apiece. 

Horribly heathenish to gobble up a saint in this 
way, though he is only gingerbread,” was the communi- 
cation imparted to me by Ailsie Dunmire, who, like the 
rest of the Britishers, looked with disapproving eye 
upon the Belgians devouring the good saint with hu- 
152 


THE SIXTH OF DECEMBER 153 

morous appreciation of their irreverent familiarities, 
though, for all their scruples, the Britishers left as 
few crumbs to be prayed over as did the unsentimental 
foreigners. 

The great event of the sixth of December was the 
opening of the paquets de St. Nicholas, These, to 
make the celebration more joyous, were delivered di- 
rect to those addressed without official interference 
from Mademoiselle Julie, who, with admirable discre- 
tion, chose the day for a visit out of town. 

And what a jollification attended the opening of 
these delightful paquets ! The whole school was wel- 
come to assist at the ceremony, for the Belgian girls 
had no conservative British hatred of crowds. 

So, for once, the Britishers threw offi their mantle 
of dignity and crowded about, candidly eager to see 
what the good St. Nicholas had brought the Belgians. 
Suky Sikes, alert and officious, pranced about with 
scissors, penknife, and can-opener, cutting, untying, 
and opening as fast as her nimble fingers, occasionally 
aided by strong teeth, would work. Suky also fetched 
and carried and constituted herself smuggler, protec- 
tor, and provider in toto. 

** A fag ! Lot of British pride youVe got ! ” Emily 
Glover contemptuously bellowed at her, when for the 
twentieth time during the hour Suky was met return- 
ing from the courtyard with water for la limonade. 

To which Suky, in a jumble of elegant French and 


154 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


very inelegant English, saucily ordered her to mind 
her own business. 

The first cover lifted was from the hamper of Oc- 
tavie de Beauchemin, and the first object revealed, ly- 
ing upon a bed of silvery tissue paper, was a bunch of 
brown twigs tied with a scarlet ribbon. 

“ Oh, la-la-la-la, la mechante maman to make me a 
roguery like that ! ” Octavie screamed in paroxysms of 
laughter. 

And squealing with delight, her schoolmates pounced 
on the twigs and with them beat Octavie over the 
shoulders until too weak from laughter to beat more. 

“ It’s part of the St. Nicholas fun to send twigs to 
punish naughty children,” Ailsie told me. 

Under the tissue paper was a note telling of a beau- 
tiful little gold watch waiting at home, for of what 
use to send trinkets that the rules of the pensionnat 
forbid to be worn? 

‘‘ Next year I go to the pensionnat of Madame 
Chantre where one wears a gold crown every day if 
one wishes,” Octavie remarked as she folded away her 
letter. 

But as Octavie had been going to Madame Chantre’s 
next term during the three years she had been pupil of 
the Pensionnat Van Pelt, her threat caused no com- 
ment. 

‘'Ah, le portrait de papa!^* Octavie ecstatically 
squealed, surveying with kindling eye and smiling lips 


THE SIXTH OF DECEMBER 155 

the square of cardboard she had just disentangled from 
its many wrappings. 

Le beau papa — ai-ai-ai ! ” shrilly echoed her com- 
panions, crowding frenziedly to look over her shoulder 
at the pictured image of a nice, stout, curly-pated, 
jovially smiling Belgian papa. 

And each girl in turn possessed herself of the por- 
trait of Octavie’s papa, raved over it, and embraced 
it exactly as though it were the portrait of her own 
precious papa, for if Belgian fathers adored their 
daughters, Belgian daughters adored their fathers. 

** Foreign gush ! ’’ the Britishers dubbed the emo- 
tional display, to which Roberta Wilcox added, “ My 
papa's considered the handsomest man in the British 
army, isn’t he, Lou ? ” 

“Jumped into a bramble bush and scratched out 
both his eyes,” hummed Lou, whose occupation in life 
seemed to be crocheting a never-completed pink wool 
shawl and straightening out the fibs of her sister 
Roberta. 

The last present fished up by Octavie’s big brown 
paw was a long, slim envelope, from which Octavie, 
with a smile that was a curious blend of pride and 
pleasure, drew forth a long, slim paper. 

“Mow coupon!*' Octavie exclaimed, while Tad and 
I pressed forward to peer inquisitively over her shoul- 
der at the crackly document she was unfolding with 
reverent fingers. 


156 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


“ You do not know what is coupon?'* was Octavie’s 
surprised question in reply to our eager “ What is it ? 

A coupon is paper what is good money,” she ex- 
plained. “ Always, since I have been little baby, for 
St. Nicholas and pour mon jour de fete I receive for 
cadeau un coupon. And honne maman, when she will 
die, will leave me encore des coupons. When arrive 
mon jour de mariage I will have much coupons for 
make large dot.” 

And very, very carefully Octavie laid away her 
precious coupon with a pile of others in a carved rose- 
wood box that she locked with a key that hung from 
a long string round her neck. 

Among the presents in a paquet de St. Nicholas 
came the j oiliest things to eat — delicacies in fat little 
bottles with beautifully decorated corks that of them- 
selves looked good enough to devour, big blocks of 
frosted and becitroned pain d'epice, which is a sort of 
angelized gingerbread smelling of honey and orange- 
flowers and tasting of both, and candied fruits and 
chocolate in quantity to stock a patisserie. 

Part of the St. Nicholas fun was to see two Belgian 
girls struggling to get a bite out of a couque de Dinant. 

A coque de Dinant was a round, flat cake, as big 
sometimes as a bread-board, and upon its buff face 
was stamped the rugged profile of Leopold I, who was 
supposed to have invented the recipe. If the old Bel- 


THE SIXTH OF DECEMBER 157 

gian king was as tough as his cakes, little wonder he 
survived his numerous battles. 

The pair chosen would stand up to the fray, and, 
each gripping an edge of the big disk in her strong 
front teeth, the two of them would pull and twist and 
shake and worry and prance and squirm, exactly like 
puppies wrestling over a bone, until, at a moment least 
expected, the tormented morsel snapped, and our 
braves, each with her bite firmly held between clenched 
teeth, would find themselves seated on the floor with 
a force to bring tears to the eyes of anything but these 
valiant Brabangonnes, while those of us who looked on 
tumbled about in convulsions of mirth. 

By the time the bottom of the paquets de St. Nich- 
olas was reached, the grande classe was one hilarious 
hum of festivity with everybody munching and crunch- 
ing, for the Belgians were free-handed and the Brit- 
ishers succumbed with good grace to the seductions of 
the St. Nicholas packages, although Emily Glover made 
the ungrateful observation that foreign goodies were 
nothing but froth and air. 

The grandest paquet de St. Nicholas was received 
by Claire de Miron. It didn’t come in an ordinary 
hamper, as did the others, but in a specially arranged 
chest with trays for the different courses. And there 
were roast chickens and salads, and ornamental des- 
serts, all prepared by the de Miron chef who came 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


158 

from Paris, and packed by old Trinka, who didn’t for- 
get knives and forks, and even a tablecloth and des 
serviettes that were elaborately embroidered with cor- 
oneted monograms. 

In spite of the rules that made it so difficult to show 
off at the Pensionnat Van Pelt, Claire de Miron man- 
aged to convey that she was grander than anybody 
else in the school. Her uniform was of finer ma- 
terial, the chocolates brought to her at salon came in 
expensive boxes, and everything she owned, even her 
pencil-cases, showed the mark of a crown that had lots 
of spikes capped with little balls, which showed that 
she belonged to the nobility. 

The English hampers didn’t arrive until Christmas. 

** Catch us Britishers celebrating any of your heath- 
enish old foreign saints’ days! Nong! Jammy dee 
lee vee ! ” was Emily Glover’s ferocious repudiation of 
foreign ways. 

The accusation of froth and air never could be 
brought against the contents of the British hampers. 
Their cakes were heavy with candied fruits, their 
plum puddings were cannon balls for weight, their 
cheeses had a flavor that nipped your tongue and a 
perfume that set you sneezing, and the mustard that 
came with their noble rounds of roast beef was of a 
strength literally to make you weep. 

Even the sweets, as the English called their candy, 
were of a consistency so truly British that they had 


THE SIXTH OF DECEMBER 159 

to be cracked with iron dumb-bells on the stones of the 
courtyard before you could get so much as a nibble. 

Not Christmas, but New Year’s, was the foreigners’ 
season of hilarious celebration, and the week between, 
before the girls went home for their midwinter holi- 
days, they had the merriest time exchanging little 
cards of remembrance. 

They made these cards between themselves by cut- 
ting sheets of cardboard into small squares and pasting 
upon them colored pictures and verses of ** hons 
souhaits pour la nouvelle annee/' 

As these pictures and verses came in sheets all of a 
kind, one had to be alive to the danger of one girl 
receiving too many duplicates, and it was awfully 
funny the way the Belgians would consult, compare, 
and exchange — all the time so lively and good-na- 
tured. 

I saw Renee Dupont openly scratch off her name 
from a card of bans souhaits sent her by Octavie de 
Beauchemin, refold it in the same paper, retie it with 
the same ribbon, and return it to Octavie, who received 
it with a delighted Merci beaucoup, Renee/* and 
later passed it on to Juliette de Rameau. 

Tania La Chapelle was in great demand designing 
cards for la nouvelle annee. She had a special talent 
for drawing cherubs. They were awfully chubby 
cherubs with thick necks and cheeks puffed out as 
though they were blowing trumpets, and Tania always 


i6o SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

made them wearing socks and slippers. She said she 
couldn’t draw their legs right if she didn’t. But the 
cherubs were awfully cute, all the same, and Tania was 
kept busy making them. 

“ See what Tania sent me for a New Year’s card,” 
Tad, who looked as though she had been crying, came 
into my chambrette to say the evening we had come 
to dress for the fete de NoH. 

I opened the slip of paper Tad pushed into my hands, 
and, by the flickering flare of the gaslight, saw out- 
lined in delicately penciled lines a tiny coffin resting 
upon a pair of trestles. 

‘‘ Look closer,” Tad huskily whispered. ‘‘ Look at 
the name upon the coffi;n-plate.” 

“ Tania ! ” I gasped in a sort of terror. 

“ Tania made it and sent it to me for a New Year’s 
card,” Tad breathed jerkingly, as though trying not 
to cry. She made it during solfege while the girls 
were singing Gounod’s Noel. I asked her why she 
gave it to me. I spoke crossly because I didn’t want 
to let her see how frightened I was. 

‘‘ ‘ I don’t know why I gave it to you,’ ” Tania said 
in a queer little voice. ‘ I just had to.’ 

“ I said ‘ Stuff ! ’ and turned to look into her face. 

‘‘ It frightened me, it was so white, and her eyes 
had such a strange look in them that I didn’t say any 
more, but just took her hand and held it close, while 


THE SIXTH OF DECEMBER i6i 


the girls went on singing, higher and higher, * Laisse 
a mon dme ouvrir son aile! Qu'elle s'envole et sente 
en elle rayonner ta Harnme eternelle/ 

Then Tad went away with the little paper crushed 
in her hand, and presently, in our fete-day frocks of 
simple white, we marched down to the grand salon, 
where the big folding-doors were thrown back and in 
filed a procession of poor peasant mothers with babies 
in their arms and little flaxen-haired children clinging 
to their skirts. 

We spent a happy hour heaping up the mothers’ 
arms with warm clothing and nourishing food, and 
stuffing the children’s hands and aprons with goodies, 
and after les pauvres had gone down-stairs for pain 
d'epice and hot coffee, we had our entertainment of 
Christmas music, with Katherine Gardner as the star, 
singing a classical role in a classical robe of trailing 
white satin and with Elizabeth to accompany her. 

Among the guests who came for the concert was a 
handsome, richly dressed blonde, and once more I 
found myself looking for the dark-eyed gjrl whose 
mournfulness had filled me with such pity. 

The beautiful blonde who had played me this de- 
ceiving trick turned out to be the duchess aunt of 
Juliette de Rameau. 

All the de Rameau family were present, and a lively 
lot they were for all their grandeur. There was the 


i 62 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


tall, graciously elegant, chatterbox mother; the tall, 
stylishly elegant, chatterbox sister; ma cousine Em- 
meline/' daughter to the duchess, who was young, 
beautiful, a bride, and a countess; and the duchess her- 
self, a glorious Juno with fascinating manners and a 
ravishing smile. 

All were artlessly interested in Juliette's gala dress, 
which was a cast-off of ma cousine Emmeline"; 
and as soon as Juliette was free they pounced upon 
her, and, with an amiably protesting Mais, Juliette! " 
from the mother, and a scolding Reste tranquille, 
done! " from the sisters, and amused smiles from '' ma 
cousine Emmeline," and bewitching little ripples of 
merriment from '' ma tante, la duchess e," Juliette was 
pulled and twisted and stood off for an inspection of 
the frock, which was pronounced too long 'in the 
sleeves and too narrow in the chest, which opinion 
Madame Van Pelt was called upon to confirm, which 
she did with grave interest and the promise to have 
Mademoiselle Julie promptly attend to the matter. 

Never had I seen Elizabeth Gardner look lovelier 
than she did at this Christmas fete, when for the last 
time she appeared as a schoolgirl. Her white robe de 
fete was as simply made as ours, her ribbons were of 
the same childish shade of blue, but she had taken 
advantage of dressing at home to bind her slender 
neck with a band of black velvet fastened at the throat 


THE SIXTH OF DECEMBER 163 

with a large, white-petaled, golden-hearted marguerite 
pin, whose starry loveliness and angelic purity seemed 
as much a part of herself as her beautiful eyes and 
winsomely parted lips. 

She had gone to the grande classe for a last collect- 
ing of books and music, and I was wandering in dis- 
consolate loneliness through the big salons, already be- 
ginning to take on the air of forlomness that always 
followed the going-away of the pupils after an enter- 
tainment, when I heard a sweet voice behind me call, 
Ah, mon amie, at last I have found you I ” 

And I turned to confront Claire de Miron, dressed 
in stylish street costume and accompanied by her smil- 
ing little mother and her handsome young sister Ghis- 
laine, who looked cross and bored. 

“ Don’t forget that we are to write to each other 
every day. One letter at least I shall expect from you 
each day. I shall think of you every moment of my 
vacances/* Claire raved, as, with her arm about my 
waist, and followed by her mother and young sister, 
we slowly wended our way tx)ward the grand stairway. 

Here Claire stopped to enfold me in a perfumed em- 
brace. 

** Adieu! Adieu!** she murmured, turning once 
more to embrace me. Au revoir, Cherie! ** 

I do not know why, but I always felt oddly irritated 
when Claire called me Cherie,** which after all was 


164 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


only a Frenchified form of Sherry. But Chhie 
on Claire’s lips always filled me with unreasoning 
resentment. 

All revoir! Au revoir!^* she called all the way 
downstairs, stopping on each step to throw kisses and 
backward glances, until, with a parting flick of her 
handkerchief, her smiling face vanished from my sight 
and I heard the metallic bang of the big front door 
that told me she was gone. 

Just as I turned from the railing over which I had 
been leaning, Elizabeth, looking troubled and anxious, 
hurried toward me exclaiming : ‘‘ Have you seen 

Claire, Sherry ? I have looked all over the house and 
cannot find her. I must see her. I want to ask her 
to let us part friends. She no longer cares for me, 
but I want her to know that I bear her no ill-will. I 
should feel happier to know that we parted with kind 
words than with hard feelings. Where is she. Sherry ? 
Have you seen her ? ” 

‘‘ She has gone,” I answered. 

‘‘ Gone ? ” Elizabeth repeated as though she had 
heard amiss. 

‘‘ She left only a moment ago. She had just said 
good-by to me when you came up,” I explained. 

She left — like this — without a word ! ” Eliza- 
beth cried, clasping her hands and looking at me with 
a hurt in her beautiful eyes that brought tears to my 


own. 


THE SIXTH OF DECEMBER 165 

“ I am glad she has gone ! I said. ‘‘ She would 
not have appreciated your generous words, and, I am 
sure, would have said something to have deeply 
wounded you. She should have come to you. She is 
the one to ask your forgiveness. Don’t think about 
her any more, Elizabeth.” 

“ I believe you are right. Sherry. Yes, I know you 
are,” Elizabeth sorrowfully admitted. “ But, oh,” she 
added with a sad little sigh, “ I cannot help wishing 
that we might have parted differently. You do not 
know how it has hurt me that our friendship should 
end like this.” 

Just here, Katherine, brilliant as a picture in a 
hooded opera wrap of rustling silk and fluffy lace, ar- 
rived with a similar wrap for her sister, and then the 
lovely mother and the lovelier grandmother came and 
carried Elizabeth away. 

I went down-stairs with them through the brick- 
vaulted outer vestibule to the big front door, and the 
last I saw of my beautiful Elizabeth she was seated, a 
billowy cloud of white, in the carriage and waving her 
hand to me in a rapidly vanishing vision of smiles. 

I watched until I could watch no more. Then, 
creeping upstairs through the deserted halls and dis- 
ordered dormitories to my chambrette, I flung myself 
down on the bed, and, burying my’ face in the pillows, 
I cried long and bitterly for the sweet friend who 
would gladden my schooldays no more. 


CHAPTER XII 


SCHOOL REOPENS 

F ew Britishers went home for the midwinter holi- 
days, as crossing the Channel was considered 
by them a matter not lightly undertaken, so 
quite a number of etrangeres were left in the pension- 
nat to enjoy what Madame Van Pelt called des 
grands privileges” 

That is, afternoons we were escorted by a governess 
to museums, art-galleries, and spots of historical in- 
terest, and mornings were devoted to writing in 
French, hien tourne, descriptions of what we had seen, 
which task Madame Van Pelt considered was carry- 
ing out the intention of our parents in sending us to 
her school. 

The English girls abhorred foreign sight-seeing. ’ 

‘‘ So will you,^' they glowered at Tad and me, 
‘‘ when you’ve had the dose we’ve had.” 

“ Rubens — ah, pooh ! — who wants to see his old 
things ! ” Roberta Wilcox scoffed. ‘‘ He can’t paint 
anything but big, fat, pink women that look like over- 
fed cooks ! There’s nothing in these foreign galleries 
worth looking at! You girls ought to see the picture 

i66 


SCHOOL REOPENS 167 

gallery of Chiltonhurst Manor, where we live when 
papa’s at home.” 

Believe me or not, as you please,” would scold Pat 
Mack, — who, however mad was anybody else, was 
always a little bit madder, — it’s not meself who’ll ad- 
mire these foreigners’ pictures of pots and pans and 
cabbages and carrots and puppies and parrots and 
onions, all. jumbled up together like an Irish stew — 
believe me or not, as you please ! ” 

As for those Van Dyck portraits they talk so much 
about, I think they’re just the sneakiest-looking things, 
with their sneery mouths and snaky little eyes,” was 
Minty Maxwell’s sniffling opinion. 

What the Britishers liked was to sit under the trees 
of a little park near the king’s palace, listening to the 
military band and watching the wealth and fashion 
of the town pass by, and if among these appeared a big, 
proudly stalking man in knickerbockers accompanied 
by a big, proudly stalking woman in short skirts, then 
the Britishers rejoiced, for they had seen compatriots. 

But I enjoyed everything immensely, and filled my 
journal with rapturous descriptions. 

Brussels was truly a glorious city. The streets were 
fascinating, the shops entrancing, and to be out among 
the hilarious crowds was like being continually en 
fete. 

Oh, how I loved the streets of Brussels! I never 
ceased loving the old, hilly, rambling streets, so full 


i68 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


of twists and turns that one got all tangled up in them, 
and so narrow that most of the time the horses and 
carriages and people were crowded into the middle of 
the street. 

What a delightful way these queer old streets had 
of suddenly landing one in a flower-market alive with 
movement and color, or a square of medieval houses 
with time-blackened fronts splendid with gilding and 
carving, or a grand old church with jewel-like win- 
dows and towers that pierced the sky ! 

And we went long, lovely walks down the beauti- 
ful Avenue Louise to the splendid old Bois de la 
Camhre at the fashionable hour when the grandees of 
the town went driving. 

Among these flne equipages was often a royal coach 
in which sat an imperiously beautiful woman sur- 
rounded by a group of laughing children. One of 
these children — a delicate- featured, flaxen-haired boy 
— held always my keenest interest, because he never 
smiled, but sat with great, wistful, blue eyes fixed upon 
the passing crowds, as though his heart longed to be 
with them. 

Sometimes during our sedate rambles we would re- 
ceive a startling surprise to discover in the dignified 
demoiselle bowing to us with a grace so distinguee, a 
hoydenish familiar of the grande classe. Everybody 
with our friend would bow, too — the ladies with 
charming affability, the gentlemen removing their hats 


SCHOOL REOPENS 


169 


and standing aside with lowered heads while we 
passed, as though we were royal princesses instead of 
a pack of schoolgirls in ugly black uniforms. 

As for the shops, their tiny windows were fairly 
dazzling with gorgeous displays of silks and laces and 
jewels, and sometimes a princess’ trousseau, so re- 
splendent in its beauty of sheer linen and marvelous 
colors that even the Britishers stared agape. 

But treats dearer than all to our hearts of pension- 
naires were the patisseries. Oh, the patty shops of 
Brussels, with their shining windows all aglow with 
the golden pastry, ruby jellies, ivory-tinted creams, and 
other bits of edible color displayed in combinations 
that were like fairy dreams ! 

And what bewitching places were the insides of 
these little shops, with their marbled floors, mirrored 
walls, and milk-white counters spread with platters 
heaped with the buttery, nutty, spicy, fruity, jammy, 
flaky, creamy, crusty, crumby, cracky, crunchy com- 
pounds called des pates! And the ravishing blend of 
richness and fragrance of these delectable dainties 
fresh from the oven! 

In a patisserie you didn’t sit down to a table and 
order in a commonplace way, but marched up to the 
counter, helped yourself to plate and fork, placed con- 
veniently near, and while the smiling shopwoman at- 
tended to other business, you browsed unmolested, 
trusted to keep tally of your own account. And, best 


170 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


of all, for the richest and rarest of des pates one paid 
only two cents ! 

Our first care upon entering a patisserie was to dis- 
pose of our chaperon. If Fraulein Zipp, we settled 
her at a table with a big cup of strong coffee and a 
plate heaped with the pastiest and jammiest things we 
could find. If Mees,” we ordered a pot of tea and 
sweet biscuits, if thin bread and butter were not to 
be had. But if French or Belgian, she was given 
fork and plate and left to forage with us girls. 

I should be ashamed to say how many almond pasties 
and Flemish tartines, and savarins, and horns of creme 
de Boheme, and marzipan potatoes, we girls devoured 
— as many at the rate of two cents apiece as our limit 
of one franc each would allow — all Madame Van 
Pelt would permit for a holiday indulgence. 

Even the critical Wilcoxes pronounced des pates 
‘‘ jolly good,’’ though Roberta never failed to remark, 
and always after a feed that left her fat face fairly 
shining, Not in it with the cheese cakes of Chilton- 
hurst Manor where we live when papa’s at home ! ” 
And Emily Glover, who spent every last centime of 
her one franc on the glubbiest things she could find, 
would roll out from a mouth filled with the luscious- 
ness, "'Ah, pump, give me a good English bun that 
you can get your teeth into ! ” 

Claire de Miron kept her word about writing. 
Every morning I received from her an effusion of four 


SCHOOL REOPENS 


171 

pages in her pale, flowery chirography, and filled with 
the outpourings of her sentimental soul, and each day 
I said, “ I must write to Claire,’' for I did not intend 
to be actually mean to her. 

But between sight-seeing, and studying, and corre- 
sponding with Elizabeth Gardner, who sent me glow- 
ing descriptions of her home in the Russian metrop- 
olis, the time slipped by. 

And then something happened that put Claire de 
Miron out of my head altogether. 

We girls, under escort of “ Mees,” late one after- 
noon were making a tour of the old cathedral of Ste. 
Gudule, and as I turned for a last look at the line of 
gold that runs through the gray pavement to mark 
where the sunlight falls at noon, I saw kneeling in the 
dimness of a tiny side-chapel — mon amie. 

Not the disdainful society girl of the fashionable 
restaurant, but my sorrowful friend of the salon, 
dressed, as she then had been, in somber black. 

She was praying intently with her face buried in 
her hands, and neither she nor the maid beside her 
moved as we tiptoed by. 

I will pray God to answer her prayer,” I fer- 
vently breathed as I lingered a moment behind to 
watch her. “ I feel that she is in great need of sym- 
pathy and help. I will pray to God that He will hear 
her prayer.” 

And with a heart strangely comforted, I passed on. 


172 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


for in some way I knew that I had re found the friend 
who needed me. 

The pupils of the Pensionnat Van Pelt returned to 
a grande classe so scrubbed and varnished and white- 
washed that it looked like a brilliant study in chalk 
and charcoal. The dormitories bristled with the crisp 
cleanliness of freshly starched muslin curtains, and 
everywhere the odors of paint, turpentine, and ragout 
a la sauce aigre struggled frantically for individual 
recognition. 

And what a glorious hubbub when on the scene 
appeared Octavie de Beauchemin, Renee Dupont, 
Juliette de Rameau, Rachel Van Hove, Lili d’ Artois, 
and all the rest of the merry Belgian lot, who, rustling 
and perfumed and radiant with health and spirits, 
bounded into the grande classe like frisky young 
ponies, enfolding each other in frantic embraces and 
falling upon us with rapturous squeals. 

In no time at all they were settled in their old 
places, scampering to their old haunts, playing their 
old pranks, and laughing, chatting, shouting, quarrel- 
ing, and munching chocolate as though there had 
never been a day's break in the doing of these things. 

Then came our dear old Britishers briny and tar- 
scented from the sea voyage, yet, in spite of excite- 
ment and their genuine gladness to see old friends 
once more, dignified and soft-voiced as the English 
girls on such occasions always were. 


SCHOOL REOPENS 


173 


Among them was Tania La Chapelle, strangely tall 
and thin, she seemed, with a newly acquired trick, 
that would have made a less pretty girl look stupid, of 
holding her lips apart as though she had difficulty in 
catching her breath. But still the same old Tania, 
dreamy, helpless, minus rubbers, umbrella lost, and 
satchel gaping wide. 

Tad hadn’t her back ten minutes before she was 
brushing her off and rebraiding her hair in the funny 
little motherly way she always had with Tania. 

What a contrast was our Minty in a trim little cos- 
tume of shepherd’s plaid, with a natty mackintosh 
over her arm, shining gums (as the Britishers called 
rubbers) on her small feet, and in her correctly gloved 
hand an umbrella rolled slim as a lead pencil. She 
was as repellently careful as Tania was lovably negli- 
gent. 

Claire de Miron was the last girl to appear. She 
came sailing into the grande classe at bedtime, bring- 
ing with her a fascinating atmosphere of elegant 
clothes and delicate perfumes, and with her came her 
very handsome and very cross-looking sister Ghis- 
laine. 

Claire was smiling radiantly, and went about greet- 
ing the girls she knew as though each one was a ten- 
derly cherished friend. I purposely kept in the back- 
ground during these demonstrations, for, strong in 
my determination not to recommence an intimacy that 


174 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


I had found so troublesome the past term, I realized 
that my future standing with Claire hinged much upon 
how I met her on this occasion. 

As soon as she came into the grande classe I could 
feel her eyes eagerly scanning the crowd that closed 
about her, and the moment she caught sight of me 
she flew to me with open arms, exclaiming : 

Mechante, not to have written to me! Naughty, 
naughty girl! Don’t you think you deserve a big 
scolding. for treating me so badly? ” 

Just then the bell rang for ranks to the dortoir, and 
as she hurried away to her little sister she shook her 
finger at me over her shoulder with a playful, I shall 
return tout a Vheure to scold you well, mechante 

On my way upstairs I managed to slip away from 
the ranks into the little oratory where the Catholic 
girls said their prayers. It was practice-room as well 
as chapel, but there was an altar upon which burned 
a tiny taper, and here in quiet and safe isolation I 
could pray for mon amie. 

I was seated upon one of the low wicker prie-dieux 
thinking regretfully of the girl whose sadness so 
haunted me, when the door of the oratory opened and 
Claire appeared. 

She wore a dainty negligee of soft blue with trim- 
mings of foamy lace. Her blonde hair, softly parted, 
hung in two shining braids against each side of her 


SCHOOL REOPENS 


175 

smiling face, and, annoyed as I was by her intrusion, 
I was forced to admit that she made a charming pic- 
ture. 

I saw you come in here and followed as quickly as 
I could,’’ she twittered as she seated herself on the 
altar-steps and peered smilingly into my face. “ I 
have but come from settling Ghislaine for the night. 
She sleeps in the dortoir of Mademoiselle Julie with 
the small girls, and the poor little thing is lonesome 
and frightened. She never has been away from home 
before in her life. 

‘‘ And now, mechante/' Claire continued in the tone 
of playful banter which she had exchanged for the 
serious mood that I thought became her so much bet- 
ter, “what have you to say for yourself? Not one 
little letter during all the vacances in return for the 
many beautiful long ones I sent you ! Don’t you think 
you have been very, very wicked to neglect me so ? ” 

“ I never really promised to write to you, Claire,” I 
returned a little defiantly, for I did not like being taken 
to task in this way. 

“ Ah, yes ! ” Claire admitted, throwing her hands 
together and looking into my face with an arch smile 
of reproach. “ But between friends such things are 
understood. I did not forget you. I thought of you 
continually and wrote faithfully, and I made no prom- 
ise.” 

“ I >vas very busy. I was preparing to go into the 


176 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Deuxieme Cours, and we went sight-seeing a great 
deal/’ I began to explain, while inwardly rebelling 
against being forced to say what in my heart I knew 
was meaningless and false. 

I know ! I know ! ” Claire hurriedly interrupted, 
suddenly ceasing to smile and laying her hand upon 
mine with a pressure that implied no further apology 
was necessary. ‘‘ It is, of course, the most difficult 
thing in the world to write under such circumstances. 
I understood all along and was not really angry. I 
was only teasing you a little bit, and to prove that I 
have forgiven you see what I have brought you.” 

She thrust into my hand a small white package. 

Pour toi! Open it ! ” she playfully commanded. 

I removed the satiny covering to discover a tiny 
enameled box, and, lifting the lid, there upon a vel- 
vety bed I saw lying an exquisite little ring of tur- 
quoise and pearls twisted into the form of double 
hearts. 

Cest joUf You like it? ” Claire murmured. 

It is ravishing,” I answered in my admiration of 
the charming thing. 

Claire lifted the ring from the box and clapped it 
on my finger, saying : ‘‘ It is yours ! I give it to you 

in token of my friendship.” 

Then it flashed over me that Claire intended this 
ring as another link in the coil she was weaving about 


SCHOOL REOPENS 


177 


me, and I snatched off the ring and threw it into her 
lap, exclaiming: You must not give it to me! I 

must not take it I ” 

‘‘You refuse to accept my little gift?” Claire re- 
proached, as she picked up the rejected ring and 
looked at me with deepest hurt in her large blue eyes. 

“ I do not want it ! You should not offer me such 
a thing ! ” I cried, caring nothing at the moment 
whether I offended or not. 

“Maw pourquoif*' Claire persisted. “Is it be- 
cause it is against the rules to take gifts? ” 

“ I don't care a snap about the rules 1 ” I retorted 
with a recklessness I never could have been guilty of 
in a calmer moment. 

“ Then you must have some other reason for not 
accepting my ring,” Claire murmured sadly with down- 
cast eyes, as though she were concealing tears. 
“ Won't you tell me what it is ? ” 

“ Because I do not think it would be right,” I an- 
swered. “ I do not want a gift of that kind from 
you. I won't take it.” 

My sharp speech was followed by a most uncom- 
fortable little pause that had the effect of giving my 
words a double force. Then Claire, with eyes still 
drooping, said in a trembling voice, “ You mean that 
your friendship for me is not deep enough to permit 
you to accept that little ring for my sake ? ” 


178 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


‘‘ That is just what I mean, Claire,^’ I replied, feel- 
ing that now was my time to be as honest as I could 
without being too unkind. ‘‘ I think friendship is a 
very serious thing.*^ 

** Elizabeth Gardner has done this. Elizabeth 
Gardner has turned you against me,’^ I heard Claire 
murmur between closed teeth. 

“ Elizabeth Gardner is the best and truest friend 
that ever a girl had. You should be the last one to 
utter a word against her, Claire,'’ was all I dared say 
in return, for the promise I had made Elizabeth never 
to betray the confidence she had given me that last 
day she and I had walked together in the terrace, kept 
me mute. 

Big tears now were slowly rolling down Claire's 
pink cheeks, and as she wiped them away she mur- 
mured plaintively : ‘‘ Oh, I am so disappointed ! 

You do not know how hurt and disappointed I am! 
All day I have been picturing to myself your pleasure 
when you saw that I had been thinking of you. I 
made maman go to the very best places in Brussels. 
I even let her miss a train. That's what brought me 
back so late. And now to think that you won't accept 
my present! I don't see how you can be so unkind, 
Cherie." 

I was sorry to see Claire cry. I was sorry to be so 
hard-hearted. But I could not be so untrue to my- 
self as to accept a gift that I could not live up to. 


SCHOOL REOPENS 


179 


and when Claire saw that I was not ta be persuaded, 
she suddenly changed her tactics by drying her eyes 
and purring in a pleading little voice, “ Take the ring, 
Cherie — just to please me/’ 

“No, no!” I cried, wearied with her persistency. 

“ No one need ever know,” Claire coaxed. “ You 
could wear it on a ribbon around your neck. That 
would make me quite happy, and you would have 
something to remind you of a friend sincerely attached 
to you.” 

“ I will never take your ring, Claire — never, 
never, never ! ” were my vehement words. 

Convinced at last that I was not to be moved, Claire 
sat for some moments twirling the ring about her 
finger and looking much troubled in mind, while I 
impatiently wondered why she did not consider the 
matter settled and go away. 

Suddenly her face brightened, and throwing up her 
head, she exclaimed with a joyous smile, “ Since you 
will not accept the ring from me, Cherie, will you not 
give it to me from you ? ” 

“ How can I give what isn’t mine ? ” I asked in dis- 
gust at such nonsense. 

“ Ah, but it is yours ! ” Claire with sweet insistence 
contradicted. “ I have given it to you whether you 
will or not. And now you will give it to me. Cela 
me fera tin grand plaisir” 

I thought the whole business childish and silly, but 


i8o SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

if it made it any easier for Claire to compromise with 
her vanity in this way, I was willing enough. So I 
said with a promptness that meant eagerness to end 
the affair: ‘‘Take it! Take it any way you like!” 

“ The ring then is mine — a gift from you to me? ” 
Claire cajoled. 

“ Yours to keep forever and ever,” I heartily ac- 
quiesced, wishing for nothing so much except that my 
tormentor would go away and end this stupid farce. 

“Thank you — mille remerciements ! Claire ex- 
claimed, throwing her arms about me as she rose to 
kiss me, French fashion, first on one cheek and then 
on the other. 

She then departed, leaving to me the remembrance 
of a very bad quarter of an hour and the satisfaction 
of knowing that at last I stood on perfectly honest 
terms with Claire de Miron. 


CHAPTER XIII 


I MAKE A MOVE 

C LAIRE DE MIRON was making my life miser- 
able, for I soon discovered that to shake my- 
self free of her was not the simple matter I 
imagined. 

After that little episode of the ring she could not, 
of course, pretend that she thought I was especially 
desirous of her friendship, but what she did pretend, 
and which made things a thousand times worse for 
me, was that she was especially desirous of mine. 

I bore with her making it a duty to keep my pencils 
sharpened to needle-points, as she kept her own. I 
submitted in silence when she covered my books in 
her deft-fingered way and inscribed my name in lacy 
scrollwork on the fanciful etiquettes she supplied. I 
accepted the help she smilingly forced upon me be- 
cause I could not refuse without making myself un- 
kindly offensive. 

But when each morning at first breakfast a plate 
heaped with confitures, thick slices of Flemish bread, 
pain d’epice, and the various other things that came 
in Claire’s weekly hamper from home, was ostenta- 

i8i 


i 82 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


tiously placed beside my bowl of coffee, all the pride 
of my soul rose up in revolt and I lost no time in 
asking Claire to please send me nothing more. 

‘‘ But for why ? '' Claire asked, looking at me with 
big eyes of surprise and hurt. ‘‘ What have I done 
that you should refuse to accept anything from me? ” 

‘‘ I cannot explain,” I answered. “ I only know 
that to take things from you, after refusing the ring 
because we were not truly friends, makes me feel 
mean and deceitful.” 

Claire fixed me with the roundest, most innocent of 
blue eyes of noncomprehension, as she said in a voice 
meant to be touchingly plaintive : “Not to take the 
ring might perhaps be understood. But to refuse 
trifles like chocolate and des confitures is a little too 
deraisonnable. I cannot see what I have done to make 
you treat me so.” 

How I longed at that moment for the rough frank- 
ness of most of the Belgian girls, the stern honesty of 
the British! What a world of trouble I should have 
been spared in the end ! 

But what was I to do ? I could not be brutally un- 
kind just because I didnH happen to like Claire quite 
so warmly as she appeared to like me. 

Then there was my promise to Elizabeth Gardner 
to prevent me from making a fuss or letting the girls 
see too much. Poor Elizabeth! Never shall I for- 
get that last walk in the old orchard when she appealed 


I MAKE A MOVE 183 

to me so pitifully not to betray her whom she once 
had called her friend. 

“ You Americans have such strange ideas of friend- 
ship. You are so cold and unsympathetic. I can- 
not understand you in the least/’ complained Claire, 
who evidently interpreted my silence as unwillingness 
to confess myself in the wrong about accepting obliga- 
tions from her. 

'' But you should understand, Claire. You ought 
to see,” I returned, completely out of patience with 
her. 

What should I understand ? What should I see ? ” 
Claire pouted. That you despise me and wish to 
humiliate me before everybody?” 

** I do not despise you and I do not wish to humiliate 
you,” I returned. I simply want you to know that 
I cannot accept favors from you, and if you persist in 
forcing them upon me I shall give everything away.” 

** Do what you like ! Give to whom you please ! 
Only spare me the mortification of letting the whole 
school see that you spurn my gifts! ” Claire appealed 
with an intensity that brought tears to her eyes and 
made me feel like a brute. 

And so the matter ended. So, in spite of my strug- 
gles, the web of this deceptive friendship was slowly 
coiled about me. 

Another trial were the playground walks. They 
had become the bugbear of my existence, for whether 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


184 

I stayed in the grande classe to work or stole away 
to the terrace to study, Claire clung to me like a burr 
until I was at my wits' end what to do, for I dreaded 
nothing so much as to be alone with her, compelled to 
listen to her tiresome gush. 

I once made a desperate effort to capture Claire’s 
young sister Ghislaine for a protecting third, but 
Ghislaine, who was pert and precocious, repulsed my 
advances with a saucy: '' Merci! You can’t make 
a convenience of me! ” 

As it happened, our next Thursday afternoon visit- 
ing day a steady downpour stopped our avenue con- 
stitutional, and as Claire had been called to salon for 
visitors immediately after noon breakfast, I seized 
my freedom to escape from the romping gymnasium 
crowd into the quiet salle de professeur, where I spent 
my hour of recreation working over an album of 
drawings I was preparing for my mother. 

How pleasant it would be if I could always spend 
my noondays like this! A brilliant inspiration shot 
through my brain. I saw a way of escape from Claire. 
She did not draw. She would have no excuse to fol- 
low me here, and I should be freeiDf her without an 
unpleasant word or any hurt to her feelings. 

Full of excitement over my glorious plan, away I 
flew to get permission from Madame Van Pelt, who, 
always ready to encourage industry in her cheres de- 
moiselles, readily granted my request. 


I MAKE A MOVE 


185 


“ As much as possible you will keep this little ar- 
rangement to yourself, Sherida,” she impressed upon 
me. ‘‘ You understand I cannot permit des privileges 
of this kind to every one, for all my pupils are not as 
serious and industrious as you are.’' 

The next afternoon being still stormy, I watched 
my chance to slip/ away to the salle de professeur, 
where I could not help a malicious little chuckle of 
triumph to myself to think how neatly I had outwitted 
Claire, who, at that moment, I knew was waiting to 
grab me in the refectoire carre. 

In most comfortable ease of mind I was working 
away when I heard the door behind me softly opened, 
and turned my head to see peering round the door- 
edge the smiling face of Claire de Miron. 

** Ah, te voild!'' she blithely sang, tripping into the 
room and carefully closing the door behind her. 

‘‘ Who told you I was here? ” I asked with smiling 
calmness. 

Personnel Claire sweetly answered. “I waited 
for you a long time in the carre, and when you didn’t 
appear I searched the house for you. My coming in 
here was mere accident — an inspiration. Mechante 
mie, to run away from me ! ” she laughed merrily with 
a playful shake of her finger. 

I picked up my pencil and with a quiet smile of 
self-possession returned to my drawing. 

‘‘ How glad I am that I found you, Cherie ! It is 


i86 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


so much nicer our being in here than dragging around 
that stupid terrace,” Claire rippled on, leaning over 
my shoulder. 

I let this amazing speech pass unnoticed, and con- 
tinued putting little touches of white chalk to a heap 
of gray storm clouds. 

How beautifully you draw!” Claire purred un- 
pleasantly close to my ear. What a lovely touch 
you have! What sweet birds! What darling little 
chaumieres down there by that heavenly water under 
those angelic trees ! ” 

I kept down my bubbling impatience, for I felt 
Claire’s flattery to be insincere and mocking, and 
worked on in silence. Presently she began again with 
a wheedling ; “ I wish I could draw as you do. It 

would be perfectly lovely. And it looks so easy. I 
am sure I could make a success of it if I tried. If I 
bring paper and pencil, won’t you give me a little les- 
son just to see what I can do? ” 

‘‘ You must go away, Claire,” I said very sternly. 
“ Madame Van Pelt gave me permission to come here 
on condition that I told no one. She would think I 
had broken my word if she found you here.” 

** Did madame la directrice give you permission to 
come here ? ” Claire asked in genuine surprise. 

Yes, she did,” I replied, recklessly defiant in the 
elation of my security. “ Every noon that we don’t 
go for a walk I am to spend in here. I don’t expect 


I MAKE A MOVE 187 

to have an hour of recreation to myself until school 
closes in August.’' 

Claire had eyes blue as the summer sky, but they 
had one peculiarity — instead of growing dark under 
emotion, as the eyes of most persons do, they grew 
white, just as heat grows white as it grows in inten- 
sity; and while I was unfolding my little plan to her I 
could see her eyes turn paler and paler, until I could 
no more have looked into their depths than I could 
have looked into the heart of a malignant flame. 

But her lips were smiling sweetly all the while, and 
when I had finished, instead of the outburst I had ex- 
pected, she said pleasantly, dangerously I should have 
known had I been wiser : “I think your idea lovely, 
perfectly lovely. But won’t it be very miserable for 
you, Cherie, all alone here by yourself ? ” 

“ Not at all ! ” I answered lightly in my great relief 
at this exhibition of good sense on Claire’s part. “ I 
shall enjoy it immensely. You know I shall have 
plenty to do and lots of pleasant things to think about 
since I’m going home in the summer.” 

“ But what am I going to do without you ? ” Claire 
pouted like a troubled child. 

‘‘ Oh, you’ll manage ! ” I returned, purposely ignor- 
ing her sentimental suggestion. 

Claire’s answer to my attitude of indifference was 
a tremulous sigh. At the same moment I heard foot- 
steps in the marble corridor outside, and, believing 


i88 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


that Madame Van Pelt was coming, I anxiously ex- 
daimed: “Please go, Claire! Madame Van Pelt 
must not find you here ! ” 

Claire went slowly, reluctantly, smilingly, until she 
closed the door upon herself and was gone. 

Free at last! Free from the wearisome role I so 
long had been forced to play — and played so badly ! 
No more tiresome walks and talks! No more irritat- 
ing bondage! And all ended so easily and smoothly 
that I wanted to call myself names for not ending it 
sooner. 

Exit forever artful, serenely smiling, insinuating 
Claire de St. Jean de Miron de Chateau St. Jean! 


CHAPTER XIV 


CHECKMATED 

T he next day of bad weather, quite openly so 
far as Claire de Miron was concerned, I 
skipped off to the salle de professeur and soon 
was deep in a fascinating drawing, enjoying hugely 
the nice little waily wind that clapped the rain against 
the windowpanes, and that made my surroundings 
seem doubly snug and peaceful, when, as before, the 
door behind me opened, not cautiously this time, but 
boldly, and in walked Claire de Miron radiant with 
smiles. 

This time I was alarmed. If I had been Octavie de 
Beauchemin or Renee Dupont, or any one of the high- 
spirited, spicy-tongued Belgians, I should have jumped 
to my feet and shouted a wrathful : ** Va! It is 
from you I hide myself! It is to escape you that I 
am here! Away with you! I despise, I abhor, I re- 
pudiate you ! Pssitt ! ” 

But all I did was to let the pencil drop from my 
startled grasp while I stared with a dismay impossible 
to conceal. 

Claire’s arms were full of gray yarn, and without 
189 


190 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


a word she stepped lightly past me, and, seating herself 
in the teacher’s chair at the head of the table, drew 
up a second chair, threw a strand of the yarn over the 
back and proceeded with the utmost coolness to wind 
it into a ball, meanwhile glancing at me with roguish 
smiles as though saying, ‘‘ Wouldn’t you like to know 
the meaning of this?” 

** You must not stay here, Claire,” I remonstrated 
without pretense of sharing her playful mood. You 
should not have come after what I told you. You will 
get me into serious trouble.” 

Pas de danger! I have provided against that,” 
Claire replied, settling herself to disentangle a trou- 
blesome knot with a complacency that sank my heart 
with sudden suspicion. 

“You do not mean that you have Madame Van 
Pelt’s permission to stay here ? ” I anxiously queried. 

** Exactement ! ’* Claire returned, still smiling se- 
renely and without lifting her eyes from the ball she 
was winding with a sprightly energy that made me 
want to snatch it from her to fling it at her head. 

“ You see, mon amie,” Claire sweetly twittered, “ I 
thought it a great shame that you should be all by 
yourself in this stupid place day after day, and when 
I pointed this out to madame la directrice she agreed 
perfectly and gave me her permission to come here 
to keep you company on condition that I knit her a 
round dozen pairs of stockings for her armoire des 


CHECKMATED 


19 1 

pauvres. Et me viola! And isn’t it lovely to think 
of you and I being here together? ” 

“ No, not in the least lovely! I think it’s perfectly 
horrid ! ” I replied jn a fury of rage, disappointment, 
and baffled triumph. ‘‘ I came here for peace and 
quiet. I came here to be alone.” 

“ But you are with your friend, Cherie. Is not be- 
ing with one’s friend the same as being alone ? ” Claire 
queried in tones soft as a kitten’s pur. 

‘‘ You are not my friend! I have never considered 
you my friend ! No friend would play me a trick like 
this ! ” I retorted all aquiver with indignation. 

I had been checkmated and I knew it. Claire de 
Miron had outwitted me. I had no choice but to sub- 
mit, and when Madame Van Pelt presently came to 
see how we were faring, she found us both silently 
absorbed in our work — Claire smilingly, I fiercely. 

“Ah! ’Tis just so that I like to see des jeunes 
amies!^* exclaimed our simple-hearted directrice, 
beaming upon us at our industrious occupations as 
though we were a sight to gladden her eyes. “ Was 
it not a charming surprise, Sherida, to have your friend 
for company ? Ah, I thought so ! ” she added, lay- 
ing her hand with a kindly pressure upon my shoul- 
der. ^ 

“ And you will not forget the tricotages for mes 
pauvres, Claire ! ” she laughed. “ And you, Sherida, 
must not work too hard ! ” were the parting words of 


192 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


our good madame, as, embracing us both in a glance 
of affectionate pride, she left us to ourselves. 

What especially galled me as the result of my en- 
forced intimacy with Claire de Miron was that to out- 
siders we presented a most perfect picture of an ideal 
friendship, and Ailsie Dunmire added to my troubles 
by one day greeting me with an offended : “ It’s all 

very well for you to make an idol of Claire de Miron, 
Sherry, but don’t you think you could give up her so- 
ciety once in a while so that your old friends could 
have a little bit of you sometimes? ” 

And when I found, placed where I was sure to see 
it, a chair, its seat smeared with cake-crumbs and 
jam, telling of a spread to which I had not been in- 
vited, I knew what the rest of the Britishers were 
thinking. 

I would have given much to have unburdened my 
heart to Ailsie, but I feared that the sympathy of this 
stanch little Scotch champion would have made mat- 
ters worse. 

And again, there was my promise to Elizabeth 
Gardner to tie my tongue. So I held my peace, con- 
soling myself with the reflection that things couldn’t 
go on this way forever, that they were really better 
than they were before, and that my book of drawings 
was progressing finely. 

The nearest Claire and I ever came to an open 
quarrel was in reference to Elizabeth Gardner. 


CHECKMATED 


193 


Ever since Elizabeth had left, never a week that a 
letter did not come to me from her. Claire’s name 
was never mentioned by either of us, and of course 
I never spoke of our correspondence to Claire. But 
she could not help knowing of it, for the mail was 
distributed in public and everybody knew Elizabeth’s 
pearly white envelope with its monogram of deep-sea 
blue. 

Elizabeth’s letters, now for some time, had con- 
tained hints about a mysterious, delightful something 
that might happen, and one day came from Katherine 
a thick, buff-colored envelope announcing Elizabeth’s 
wedding and her departure for the Mediterranean on 
a bridal trip. 

‘‘ The bridegroom is a Russian prince,” Katherine 
wrote — “ young, handsome, accomplished. He has 
a palace in the Russian capital, castles all over Europe, 
no end of grand titles, and an enormous fortune. 
Don’t you think Bess a lucky girl ? 

And best of all,” Katherine enthusiastically con- 
tinued, there is love on both sides.” 

Katherine, to make this fact more impressive, had 
printed LOVE ON BOTH SIDES ” in the blackest 
and heaviest of capital letters, with each letter stand- 
ing out in a radiance of pen-lines that in some trans- 
figuring way suggested, radiant, starry, long-lashed 
eyes — and Elizabeth’s starry, long-lashed eyes in 
particular. 


194 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Of course the glorious news I had to tell could not 
be kept secret a single minute, and I no sooner had 
reached the last word of Katherine’s letter than I sent 
it circulating among the English, and in a flash the 
whole school was aflame with the report that Elizabeth 
Gardner had married a royal prince with an enormous 
fortune and was going to live in a palace as grand as 
the czar’s. 

Claire de Miron was out of the grande classe when 
I received my letter, but when she came back at the 
end of her practice I saw instantly by the expression 
of her face that she knew nothing. 

Now if there was one girl in the school who had 
absolutely no respect for Claire de Miron, that girl was 
Octavie de Beauchemin. 

The girls, as a rule, stood rather in awe of Claire’s 
dignity and I’m-a-little-grander-than-you air. But 
not so the callous Octavie. She borrowed Claire’s 
dainty, pearl-handled knife without scruple, helped her- 
self without asking to her delicately sharpened pencils, 
and was as free and familiar and as quick to express 
an opinion as though she considered Claire not a whit 
better than herself. 

And, in consequence, if there was a girl in the school 
that Claire despised, that girl was Octavie de Beau- 
chemin. 

So when Claire, with her portfolio of music under 
her arm, appeared in the doorway of the grande classe 


CHECKMATED 


195 


this particular morning and dropped in the doorway 
the perfunctory curtsy with her usual serene smile of 
self-approbation, it was Octavie, who, regardless of 
recitations, dictations, and silence, shouted : Come 

tell us the news, Claire de Miron ! How can you be 
so selfish as to keep everything to yourself all this 
time ! 

‘‘ Oh, you needn’t pretend you don’t know what 
Fm talking about! ” the irrepressible Octavie continued 
with a good-natured sneer, as Claire, with blue eyes 
full of wonder, came slowly into the room. ‘‘ You 
know perfectly well I mean the great news about Eliza- 
beth Gardner marrying a Russian prince as rich as 
the czar.” 

I saw by Claire’s sharp change of color from a deli- 
cate rose to a vivid pink, that she had been genuinely 
startled. But she quickly recovered herself, and, still 
sweetly smiling, put away her music, came to her place, 
and, bringing out a heap of books, prepared to bury 
herself in hard study as though neither Elizabeth 
Gardner nor Russian princes were of the slightest in- 
terest to her. 

“ Oh, now, par exemple, but this is a little trop 
fort! ” Octavie teased, determined to make Claire 
talk. ^‘You’re just too mean, Claire de Miron! 
Sherida Monroe has let the whole school read her let- 
ter, and here you won’t tell us a single thing, and 
you’re Elizabeth Gardner’s amie intime, too, and you 


196 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


must know more than anybody else! Why didn’t you 
tell us she was going to be married? ” 

Silence, Octavie ! ” Mademoiselle Malaise com- 
manded, as she rapped sharply on her desk with a 
ruler. ‘'You are disturbing the whole class! It is 
impossible to proceed with the recitations while you 
continue to talk ! ” 

“ But why proceed ? ” the saucy Octavie retorted. 
“ It is not every day that one’s schoolmates marry 
princes ! Why not give us a holiday to celebrate ? 

“Of course,” Octavie proceeded, once more turn- 
ing her attention to Claire, who was persistently por- 
ing over her book as though determined not to be 
moved from her self-possession, “ as Elizabeth Gard- 
ner’s dearest friend she will be sure to have you visit 
her at her great Russian palace, and the next we know 
you’ll be marrying a prince, too. Oh, la-la-la ! Won’t 
that be a grand thing ! I hope you won’t forget to in- 
vite all your old schoolmates to the wedding, Claire, 
and me especially, to whom you are so devotedly at- 
tached ! ” 

And Octavie concluded her provoking sally in a 
jocose peal of laughter that caused all the governesses 
in the room to pound on their desks at the same time 
and shout “ Silence, Octavie ! ” in a chorus of thun- 
dering command. 

Meanwhile I could not help watching Claire. As 
a pupil of the Deuxieriie Cours I sat directly behind 


CHECKMATED 


197 


her, so that I could not see her face, but when she 
turned aside to escape Octavie, who had taken advan- 
tage of the uproar to still further press her teasing 
importunities, I saw the ominous gleam of white in 
her blue eye, and her underlip, though it continued to 
smile, was trembling pitifully. 

‘‘ Won’t you tell us what Elizabeth wore, and how 
she looked, and when you are going to visit her ? ” 
Octavie mischievously coaxed, throwing herself across 
Claire’s shoulder the better to look into her face. 

Pale with passion, Claire suddenly turned on her 
tormentor and in a quivering voice of rage, never be- 
fore heard to issue from Claire de Miron’s smiling 
lips, she snapped : Tais-toi, Octavie de Beauchemin 1 

If you do not cease this instant, I shall change my seat 
or insist upon you changing yours! It is impossible 
for me to get my lessons with you keeping up this 
pestering talk ! ” 

‘‘Ai-ai-ai! La furieuse! What a temper!” ex- 
claimed the girls, who were richly enjoying the scene, 
while Octavie, in a rage because she had been ordered 
out of the room by Mademoiselle Malaise to report 
herself to Madame Van Pelt for misconduct, ex- 
claimed with an emphasis that this time was far from 
being playful banter: "‘You’re a regular spitfire, 
Claire de Miron, and I believe you’re jealous of Eliza- 
beth Gardner’s good fortune! That’s why you’re so 
enraged'* 


198 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


It was impossible not to feel sorry for Claire. It 
must have been dreadful for one of her pride to hear 
the girls discussing Elizabeth’s wedding, the dress she 
wore, the presents she had received, and to have them 
appeal to her and question her — for it must be re- 
membered that not a girl of them had the first inkling 
of anything wrong between her and Elizabeth. So 
with no other intention than that of sparing her fur- 
ther mortification I resolved to offer her Katherine’s 
letter to read. 

“ Don’t you want to read Katherine’s letter, Claire ? ” 
I asked, pushing the letter toward her in an offhand 
way, as we sat at our work in the salle de professeur 
after the noon breakfast of this same day. Every- 
body in the school has read it. It is very interesting. 
It tells all about Elizabeth’s wedding.” 

Into Claire’s blue eyes I saw leap that baneful white 
light, and, flinging the letter aside with a violence that 
sent it spinning to the floor, she all but hissed at me 
from between her tightly compressed lips : Grand 

merci! I wish to hear nothing about that girl ! ” 

The cutting force with which she emphasized each 
word, the sneering contempt with which she brought 
out that girl” made my blood whirl red-hot, and 
the passionate resentment I could not feel for myself 
burst into flame when I thought of Elizabeth Gardner, 
so noble, so generous, so forgiving; and fixing her full 
with a withering glance of scorn, I hurled at her these 


CHECKMATED 


199 


words seething with rage : ** Don’t you dare to speak 

in that way of Elizabeth Gardner to me! She is the 
best, the noblest, the truest friend that ever a girl had ! 
And you know it!” 

This was the nearest that I had ever come to be- 
traying the confidence Elizabeth had given me regard- 
ing Claire’s falseness to her, and whether Claire un- 
derstood or not I do not know, but I saw her face grow 
white under my angry gaze, while her eyes paled and 
contracted to pin-points. 

But not a word did she utter in her own defense, 
and I, daring to say no more lest I should betray 
Elizabeth, hurriedly picked up Katherine’s letter and 
left the room, letting the door come to behind me with 
a bang that would have set on edge the beautiful teeth 
of the elegant maitresse de maintien. 

The arrangement of the classes kept Claire and me 
apart for the rest of the day, but that night at bed- 
time I found a rose-pink note upon my pillow. In a 
passion, for I had not yet recovered from the insult 
to my sweet Elizabeth, I tore open the envelope and 
read: 

Cherie: Won’t you forgive me for my angry 
words, as I have forgiven yours? I do not bear you 
any ill-will because I know you never would have 
spoken to me as you did, had you known all. Some 
day, perhaps, I shall let you know how you have 
wronged me, and meanwhile I shall, in future, be more 
on my guard not to broach a subject so painful to us 


200 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


both. Please, please do not be angry with me, 
Cherie. 

‘‘ Ta petite Claire.” 

What might have been the effect of this letter upon 
me had Elizabeth Gardner not confided in me and did 
I not know Claire so well myself, I cannot say. But, as 
it was, I looked upon it as only a lot of hypocritical 
gush, and in a paroxysm of disgust I tore the missive 
into bits and dropped them into my water- jug to soak 
into annihilation. 

But I plainly saw that Claire was not happy, and 
what mattered whether she grieved because of her own 
shortcomings, or, as Octavie de Beauchemin spitefully 
observed, because jealous of Elizabeth’s good fortune 
and regretted throwing away so lightly a friend who 
now could be so advantageous to her? 

So I let the note pass and outwardly Claire de Miron 
and I were friendly as ever. But from that hour, 
when I had so furiously spoken in Elizabeth Gardner’s 
defense, though Claire’s lips kept faithfully to their 
trick of sweet smiling, the white gleam in her blue eyes 
never left them. 


CHAPTER XV 


AN INTERESTING ARRIVAL 

T ania la CHAPELLE, who had gone home 
to visit her invalid mother, had come back 
some days later with a miserable influenza 
caught sitting without overshoes on the damp deck of 
the steamer that had brought her over. 

'‘Just like that foolish Tania to be -so careless!’* 
was the troubled exclamation of Madame Van Pelt 
when the governess sent to meet Tania at Ostend 
brought back the tale of her latest imprudence. 

But when Madame Van Pelt saw that Tania was 
feverish and truly miserable, she softened her scold- 
ing by sending her to bed, with a tray of good English 
tea and toast to follow, and gave Tad a half-holiday 
to keep her company. 

When I stole up later and peeped in the chambrette, 
I found Tania lying back smilingly content on the 
pillows, with Tad bending over her and mopping 
vinaigre de toilette on her forehead. 

I could not repress a little heartache of envy at sight 
of the friendship between Tad and Tania, for never 
did I feel so desolate, so utterly alone, as I did during 
these last months of my school-life abroad. 


201 


202 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


I was in the deepest depths of this despondency 
over my friendless condition, when the new girl came. 

We were now well in the midwinter term. Raw 
winds were blowing from every point of the com- 
pass, and the sidewalks were slippery with a slush of 
mud and snow. So, the noon walk dispensed with, 
Claire and I slipped away to our work in the salle de 
professeur. 

Time had softened or hardened me to conditions, 
and I now found myself able to support Claire’s pres- 
ence at least with tolerance. We even at times con- 
versed, which was infinitely more comfortable than 
my old attitude of bristling resentment. 

We had just settled ourselves on this particular 
afternoon, when a low hum of voices, announcing the 
arrival of visitors, reached us from the entrance corri- 
dor. The door was flung open, and my heart gave a 
leap to see standing on the threshold beside Madame 
Van Pelt the handsome blonde, now already so fa- 
miliar, and behind her the dark, slim girl I persistently 
called mon amie. 

She was dressed simply, as I saw her first, and 
fastened to her jacket, instead of the violets she wore 
that day, or the garish roses that adorned her as 
demoiselle die monde, was a spray of syringa like that 
I met her carrying from the market-place of the 
hotel de ville. 

The beautiful mother, though she looked young to 


AN INTERESTING ARRIVAL 203 

be the mother of this tall, grave girl, rustled ma- 
jestically into the room, bringing with her a glitter 
and movement of all sorts of shining, jingling things, 
and diffusing a delicate odor of perfumes as she came, 
bowing and smiling and gayly chatting in a laughing, 
high-pitched voice, exactly as I had seen duchesses on 
the stage make their entrance, while the girl followed, 
looking about her with an air of scornful indifference. 

A look of recognition flashed into her dark eyes as 
they met my welcoming glance, but swiftly died, leav- 
ing them pathetically sad as ever. 

“ This is the apartment where the pupils receive 
their instruction from the professors,” said Madame 
Van Pelt, standing aside with professional pride to 
give her visitors a better view of the salle de pro- 
fesseur. 

‘"Delightful! Delightful!” the beautiful mother 
murmured in her melodious voice, as she threw an 
affectionate glance toward the unresponsive charts and 
blackboards. 

“And who are these charming demoiselles?” she 
asked, suddenly turning the light of her sparkling blue 
eyes upon Claire and me, who, in accordance with the 
etiquette of the school when visitors were present, were 
standing at our places with eyes modestly lowered. 

“This young girl,” Madame Van Pelt answered, 
placing an affectionate hand upon my shoulder, “is 
Mademoiselle Sherida Monroe. She comes from 


204 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


America and is one of our most distinguished pupils. 

“ And her companion/' madame continued, with a 
glance of tender pride for Claire at the head of the 
table, is Mademoiselle St. Jean de Miron, daughter 
of the Baron St. Jean de Miron of Chateau St. Jean.’' 

“ Ah, indeed ! " the charming visitor rippled, peer- 
ing a second time through her gold-rimmed monocle, 
as though the daughter of the Baron St. Jean de Miron 
of Chateau St. Jean were worthy of closer scrutiny. 

And are they friends, these two young girls ? " 
she asked, as, her investigation finished, she beamed 
upon Claire and me with a flattering show of interest. 

“ They are des inseparables” Madame Van Pelt 
laughed, joined by the beautiful lady, who broke into 
a little tinkling staccato that revealed two dazzling 
rows of delicately pointed teeth. 

The merriment caused the young girl, who during 
this interchange of pleasantries had been abstractedly 
gazing from the window into the dreary courtyard, to 
suddenly turn and flash her dark eyes into my face 
with a strangely wistful, questioning glance. But all 
she found there was the unutterable weariness and dis- 
gust I always felt whenever the falsity of the relations 
between Claire and myself were touched upon. 

And she turned away as though disappointed, but 
several times afterward I detected those dark eyes 
straying toward me with that indefinable interrogation 
of wistfulness. 


AN INTERESTING ARRIVAL 205 

‘‘ These two young ladies are among our best pu- 
pils/’ continued Madame Van Pelt, who, when upon 
the subject of mes Sieves/' was inclined to talk; ‘‘ and 
as this is their last year I have allowed them to work 
together during a portion of their recreations. One 
does not often see young girls of their age so serious 
and industrious.” 

“ Rarely, indeed, madame ! ” this most gracious lady 
acquiesced. I hope Laurice will make friends with 
these estimable young girls. 

‘‘ Laurice is too retiring, too self-concentrated — la 
pauvre enfant! ” she added with an appealing little 
money as though she were soliciting Madame Van 
Pelt’s sympathy and forbearance. ‘‘ I am sorry to 
say that she has mixed very little with persons of her 
own age. I suppose that has helped to make her so 
unlike other girls.” 

Laurice — oh, what an entrancing name ! — with 
the corners of her beautiful mouth still drooping in 
their scornful curves, continued to gaze from the win- 
dow with an abstracted expression, as though she had 
heard nothing of the confidence just imparted to us 
about herself, which made me think her mother was 
right in calling her too self-concentrated, but which 
made her none the less interesting to me. 

Already I was won by that mournful glance, that 
proud little air of disdain. 

But the beautiful lady was going, bowing and smil- 


206 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


ing herself out of the room with pretty, laughing chat- 
ter, as she had bowed herself into it. 

Claire, I could see, was entirely engrossed with this 
fascinating creature, who was just such a woman of 
beauty and fashion as I imagined Claire herself some 
day would become, and, indeed, Claire could more 
truly have passed for her daughter than the girl who 
accompanied her. 

But my last thought was for the sad-eyed Laurice, 
who, just as she stepped over the threshold, turned 
her head to throw me a glance that I felt sure said, 
'' Oh, that we two might be friends ! ” 

What a lovely girl ! I do hope she’ll come here ! ” 
I exclaimed as soon as the door closed. 

‘‘ I see nothing to admire in that disagreeable-look- 
ing creature. The handsome mother is far more to 
my taste,” Claire replied in her smooth voice, as she 
returned to her work, as though neither mother nor 
daughter possessed further interest for her. 

But Claire’s indifference mattered nothing to me, 
for already I looked upon Laurice as my friend, and 
my only anxiety was that she might not come. 

She did come. Next morning, while on my way 
to Monsieur Villeneuve for a music lesson, I met 
Juliette de Rameau, who in a doleful voice, as though 
announcing a calamity, said : “ A new girl has just 

come. Her name’s Laurice de Crevier. She’s from 
Paris. And she’s in the Premier Cours.” 


AN INTERESTING ARRIVAL 207 

This was a calamity from the First Course point of 
view, for First Course girls were jealous of their rights 
and did not look with favor upon a newcomer who 
might wrest from them prizes and distinctions which 
they considered as rightfully belonging to no one but 
themselves. 

The injured parties in this case were Claire de 
Miron, Octavie de Beauchemin, Renee Dupont, and 
Tania La Chapelle. These four sat side by side in 
the front row, and when I hurried into the room upon 
receipt of Juliette’s news, it was to find Laurice seated 
next to Claire de Miron, who was smiling sweetly, as 
though nothing in the world gave her greater pleas- 
ure than to be obliged to move out of her seat to ac- 
commodate a new girl whom already she had stigma- 
tized as disagreeable; while Octavie de Beauchemin 
and Renee Dupont, looking black resentment, were 
beating their chests, rolling their eyes, rocking their 
bodies back and forth while mumbling over their text- 
books in a perfect frenzy of application. Tania La 
Chapelle, sublimely indifferent, was gazing dreamily at 
the ceiling, while she chewed a lead pencil that had 
left a streak of black from chin to eyebrow. 

Laurice de Crevier had not been two days in the 
First Course before the discovery was made that she 
was a prodigy of scholarship. Indeed, so superior 
was she to her classmates that she was quite hors de 
combat as a rival, and all she had to say when ques- 


208 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


tioned by the wondering girls as to what school she 
had attended before coming to this one, was that she 
had never attended any school but had always studied 
at home. 

Of course a scholar like Laurice de Crevier could 
not come into any class without jarring the founda- 
tions. Claire de Miron, who was neither brilliant like 
the Gardners nor gifted like Tania La Chapelle, and 
kept her place at the head of the class by sheer force 
of application, declared herself charmed to have a 
classmate so well worth competing with, and so far 
as appearances went she carried out this sentiment to 
perfection. 

Tania La Chapelle, who was lazy to limpness, ac- 
cepted the situation without a ripple of disturbance. 
But Octavie de Beauchemin and her chum, Renee Du- 
pont, who had only the proficiency that comes from 
sharp wits and good memories, were in a fermenting 
state of agitation over the intrusion of Laurice de 
Crevier. 

‘‘ What does a girl want to come for in the middle 
of the term like this? they grumbled. “ She’ll gob- 
ble up all the prizes, and it isn’t fair to the rest of 
us who have been working comme des chiens all 
year ! ” 

But when it was seen that Laurice de Crevier had 
not the remotest idea of gobbling up anything, when 
she betrayed not a vestige of conceit or disposition to 


AN INTERESTING ARRIVAL 209 

show off, when she proved herself to be the most un- 
assuming creature possible, dominated by no apparent 
ambition except to add to and improve the fund of 
knowledge she already possessed, they speedily became 
reconciled. 

Moreover, they were not slow to see the advantage 
of having for classmate one who was always ready to 
help with explanations and promptings, and who never 
objected to them looking over her shoulder to copy the 
difficult words that made the die tees such betes noires. 

But in spite of Laurice having won the admiration 
and the respect of the girls, one saw plainly that she 
never would be a popular favorite. She was too seri- 
ous. She didn’t make herself one of them. She was 
not a havarde, nor an e tour die, nor a ricaneuse, nor a 
nibbler of chocolate. In fact, she had no fun in her 
at all, according to their ideas of fun. 

‘‘ But this is not to be wondered at, considering she 
is eighteen years old,’’ said these Belgian girls, who, 
with that combination of rude frankness and delicate 
tact peculiar to themselves, had extracted this interest- 
ing bit of information before the new girl had been in 
the house an hour. 

Then Octavie de Beauchemin had taken advantage 
of an opportunity to rummage through the new girl’s 
desk, and had brought to light a Russian-leather ink- 
bottle stamped on the lid with the initials L. de C., and 
above them a crown that had several more balls and 


210 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


spikes than had the crown in the crest of Claire de 
Miron. 

The next important discovery in connection with 
the new girl was that the beautiful lady supposed to 
be her mother turned out to be a sister. Laurice de 
Crevier, as was soon learned, was an orphan, and, so 
far as the girls had been able to glean on so short no- 
tice, had no immediate relations except this sister, 
who evidently took the place of a parent toward her. 

These facts ended all interest in Laurice de Crevier 
so far as the school in general was concerned. She 
was left to go her sober, industrious way in peace, and 
was no more expected to take part in the pranks of 
the fun-loving girls than were the governesses. 

Laurice de Crevier had been in the school nearly a 
week before I had spoken a single word to her. 

The day of her arrival I saw nothing of her, for 
the Belgians had taken complete possession of the 
“ new girl from Paris ’’ with an air of race proprietor- 
ship that kept all outsiders at bay. And the days fol- 
lowing were no better. 

In the Van Pelt institution of learning no provision 
was made for sentiment. Each hour of our busy day 
was filled with methodical occupations. Our recrea- 
tions were subject to rules that debarred from privacy, 
and everywhere we went was under the sharp eye of 
surveillance. 

Practically, Laurice and I were as far removed from 


AN INTERESTING ARRIVAL 21 1 


each other as though in different schools. She sat at 
the Belgian table, slept in the Belgian dormitory, and 
walked with the Belgian girls, and when they tired of 
the novelty, which they speedily did, she was taken 
up by Claire de Miron. 

She is tiresome beyond everything. She has no 
lightness, no humor. But she is a new scholar and 
a classmate. One must not forget les politesses/^ 
Claire was continually confiding to me in excuse for 
her assiduous attentions. And whenever I went to the 
salle de professeur these days to draw, Claire invariably 
would poke in her smiling face to say with a deprecat- 
ing apology that made me furious : ** I must go keep 

Laurice company. La pauvre Me is so lonely and 
everybody seems to neglect her. You won’t be hurt 
with me for leaving you alone, will you, Cherie ? ” 

One evening — it was the second week after Lau- 
rice’s arrival — I noticed, when I turned to make my 
curtsy at the refectoire door after dinner, that Laurice 
was several girls ahead of Claire in the line passing Ma- 
dame Van Pelt for bon sotr/' and feeling that my 
chance had come to capture Laurice, I hung back in 
the dimly lighted grande classe while the pushing, 
laughter-screaming Belgian mob hurried on to the 
salle de gymnastique for their evening fun. 

Somebody did come presently, and as I ran for- 
ward with outstretched hands I met — not Laurice — 
but Claire. 


212 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


“ Ah, I was just coming to look for you, Cherie! ” 
she merrily chirped, seizing my hand in an affectionate 
pressure, as though my glad welcome had been for 
her. '‘I’m so sorry, but Laurice de Crevier is going 
to bed with a headache and I thought it my devoir to 
offer to go with her to make sure that she is comfort- 
able. 

" It’s an awful bore,” she explained. " I don’t find 
Laurice de Crevier the least bit amusing.” 

" Let me go to her in your place,” I urged. 

" Wouldn’t that look rude? ” Claire suggested, low- 
ering her eyes and speaking in her softest voice. 
" Wouldn’t it look as though I wanted to rid myself 
of her? ” 

" I’ll tell her that it was all my fault,” I proposed. 

" I’m afraid I can’t resign my troublesome responsi- 
bility to you,” Claire blandly returned. " But I 
shouldn’t like to hurt Laurice’s feelings after prom- 
ising her that I’d come to her. I’ll be back to you 
as soon as possible.” 

And with a smile tliat never made her seem so hate- 
ful to me, Claire went away, leaving me alone in the 
desolate grande classe. 

Gradually, as the days went by, with conditions un- 
changed, it began to dawn upon me that Laurice de 
Crevier wasn’t taking the loss of my friendship very 
much to heart. In fact, she didn't seem in the least 
need of it. 


AN INTERESTING ARRIVAL 213 


I was deeply disappointed, and, to make the disap- 
pointment yet keener, I had to sit by and see Claire de 
Miron win the friendship that I so foolishly had flat- 
tered myself was mine. Claire now monopolized 
Laurice almost entirely and their every moment of 
freedom was spent together. 

“ So Claire de Miron has deserted you for the new 
girl from Paris! I confess it’s not pleasant to be 
thrown over in that way, but Claire de Miron is not 
worth looking so miserable about. Sherry,” my kind 
little Ailsie whispered over my shoulder one night on 
our way upstairs to ranks. 

This, then, was the result of carrying my heart on 
my sleeve! I looked unhappy and was supposed to 
be moping over Claire de Miron’s neglect, and, for all 
I knew, the whole school had noticed and was pitying 
me. I would take care that everybody was speedily 
undeceived of this delusion. 

In the mood of defiance that now seized upon me, 
I joined myself to the Belgians. I took part in all 
their boisterous games, screeching and scrambling 
over their favorite game of halle brulee as crazily as 
the rest of them. I plunged into their pranks with an 
abandon that brought me more bad marks against la 
bonne conduite in one day than during all the time I 
had been in the school. 

I was still in this mood when one day, while on 
my way to the salle de professeur, and Laurice and 


214 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Claire, their arms entwined in demonstrative French 
fashion, passed me in the carre, Claire suddenly turned 
back to ask if I would join her and Laurice. 

Thank you, I cannot come. I am busy,’’ I re- 
plied with exaggerated graciousness, and throwing off 
a breezy laugh, just to show my light-hearted indiffer- 
ence, I tripped away. But not before I had seen a 
flash of mortification leap into Laurice’s dark eye. 
And I was glad that I had hurt her. Glad to let her 
see that her friendship was nothing to me. 

But I soon tired of this stupid role, and, do what I 
could, I could not crush down the interest I felt in 
this sad and silent girl, and my longing to befriend her 
grew the more as she seemed the less to invite my 
sympathy. 


CHAPTER XVI 

AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE — AND THE REST OF IT 

I WAS in an altogether uncomfortable state of 
mind when I became the victim of an adventure 
that for some hours at least turned my thoughts 
from both Claire and Laurice. 

The late afternoon bell had just rung for solfege, 
and while Ailsie Dunmire and I, who had come down 
from a piano practice, were hurriedly putting away 
our music in the grande classe, Suky Sikes tiptoed 
stealthily toward us and in a mysterious whisper an- 
nounced that we were wanted in the Loft/’ 

Visions of chocolate or perhaps a luscious pate — 
for the Loft ” hiding-place was always connected in 
our minds with good things to eat — made Ailsie and 
me fairly race to the Trou ” passageway and tumble 
up the ladder stairway to the Loft,” where we found 
several Britishers awaiting. 

Roberta Wilcox sat balancing her slender form on 
the shaky railing that prevented unwary ones from 
falling down the opening. 

‘‘Something jolly for you two!” she called, hold- 
215 


2i6 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


ing toward Ailsie and me a neat white package, as 
our heads appeared above the gangway. 

‘‘No fooling?” we asked, slow to accept the gift 
in the face of such remembrances as pebbles done up 
in bonbon boxes, and pieces of wood wrapped in tin 
foil to look like chocolate, upon which we had often 
wasted effusive thanks, and, upon one memorable oc- 
casion, painfully jarred our teeth. 

“ No fooling! Should say not! ” Roberta returned 
with an inflection of honesty that made us ashamed 
of our mean suspicions. “ It’s something you’re 
mighty lucky to get ! It’s Stilton cheese ! ” 

Stilton cheese! A dainty I long had heard of from 
the English girls and long desired to taste. 

“ All for us ? ” asked Ailsie, who, as an inhabitant 
of the British Isles, knew how to appreciate the prize 
that had fallen into her lap. 

“ Every smitch of it,” Roberta replied. “ The rest 
of us are crammed. Taste it, Sherida, and see how 
you like it.” 

Ailsie removed the paper, while Roberta, her sister 
Louise, Minty Maxwell, Emily Glover, and the rest 
of them, crowded about to watch with interest the ap- 
pearance of two delicately toasted tartines filled half 
an inch deep with a crumbly mass of what looked like 
Paris green, gunpowder, and brickdust, and smelled 
like graveyard mold. 

“ Should it be all motley like that? ” I asked, open- 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 217 

ing my tartine disgustedly to eye the contents. 

Gracious me ! ” Roberta impatiently exclaimed. 
“ Don’t you know Stilton, Sherida Monroe ? Didn’t 
you ever before in your life see Stilton? That black 
and green is just the richness of it! ” 

Ailsie, with a suddenness that to me looked like des- 
peration, took a large bite. I followed suit. 

** Like it ? ” the girls inquired. 

“ I’m not sure,” I replied, dubiously smacking my 
lips. ‘‘ It’s peculiar. It reminds me a little of kitchen 
soap — as I imagine kitchen soap would taste,” I 
added. 

'' I don’t remember any Stilton that I’ve ever eaten 
tasting quite so queer and ratty as this,” Ailsie re- 
marked with a funny little gulp. 

'' Ah pump 1 ” Emily Glover growled with an in- 
flection that seemed to imply she considered good 
things to eat wasted on Ailsie and me. 

‘‘ That’s because you’ve never eaten the right kind 
— the kind that’s properly ripened,” Roberta slid to 
her feet to explain. ‘‘ This is the genuine Stilton — 
the Stilton par excellence, as the Frenchies would say. 
This is the sort that costs a guinea a pound.” 

Where did you get it ? ” was Ailsie’s canny ques- 
tion. 

Never you mind where we got it,” Roberta airily 
replied. Be satisfied that you’re lucky enough to get 
your share. I had trouble enough saving it for you. 


2I8 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


let me tell you, the girls were so greedy about gobbling 
it up themselves. Weren’t you, girls?” 

I have a little entry here in my journal,” Minty 
Maxwell proceeded to squeak, to be excitedly choked off 
by Roberta Wilcox interrupting with a noisy : ‘‘ Your 
taste must be cultivated to like Stilton. Why, Ailsie 
Dunmire knows you’re just nobody in England if you 
don’t like Stilton. But give it back if you don’t want 
it. I’ll eat it myself.” 

I was strongly tempted to take up this offer, and 
even Ailsie seemed to hesitate, which seeing, Roberta 
hurriedly added, But if I were you, girls, I wouldn’t 
let slip a chance to eat Stilton at a guinea a pound.” 

The guinea a pound settled it. Ailsie and I decided 
to eat the cheese. 

No sooner did we announce this than every man 
jack of those girls went tumbling helter-skelter out of 
the ‘‘ Loft,” as though in a perfect frenzy not to be 
late to solfege, leaving Ailsie and me squatted upon 
the dusty floor with our precious tartines in our laps. 

‘‘ What you can’t eat save for me ! ” Roberta Wilcox 
popped her head up over the stairway to say before 
she, too, went sprinting madly away with the others. 

“ Can’t say I like the stuff,” Ailsie confided, squeez- 
ing the paper wrapper into a ball and letting it drop 
through the pipe-hole for the fun of seeing it land on 
somebody’s head in the grande classe. “ I’m not used 
to rich cheeses. We live very simply at home.” 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 219 

“ Well, Fve eaten much cheaper cheese that I like 
better,” I remarked, as, the last crumb of the expensive 
stuff conscientiously devoured, Ailsie and I hurriedly 
clambered down the stairway. 

Of course we were late to solfege, and because we 
had no better excuse than “ don’t know,” we were 
sent by the irate Monsieur Gilbert in disgrace to the 
back row, with a bunch of bad notes that entirely 
swamped our next sortie. 

But our inflictions were as yet far from ended. As 
we were trailing behind the girls into the refectoire for 
dinner, Tania La Chapelle, who had charge of the 
solfege music, held us back in the salle de professeur 
for a moment, to ask, “ Did Roberta Wilcox give you 
any cheese a little while ago ? ” 

‘‘Yes! ” Ailsie and I merrily sang up. 

“ Did you eat it? ” was Tania’s next. 

“ Every last crumb ! ” I answered with a show of 
not mincing matters. “ Anything wrong with it ? ” 

Tania La Chapelle was not one to dally in useless 
talk. Her reply was uttered in but one word : 
“Maggoty!” 

Ailsie and I gave a sickening gasp. 

“ Couldn’t you see? ” Tania’s soft voice inquired. 

“ See what? ” Ailsie and I apprehensively jerked. 

“ Those squirmy things,” Tania answered, placidly 
piling books in the cupboard and locking the door. 

“ Roberta Wilcox found the stuff in the ‘ Loft,’ ” 


220 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Tania explained. It had been hidden away in an 
old marmalade jar for ever and ever so long and for- 
gotten. Some of the girls wanted to give it to Ma- 
dame Van Pelt to put under the microscope, but the 
others thought it would be more fun to get somebody 
to eat it, and they chose you two because you were 
the only ones who didn’t know about it.'’ 

“You should have told us!” I indignantly turned 
upon Tania. 

“ I couldn’t. I had to distribute the music. And 
Tad couldn’t tell either because she sits in the front 
row and didn’t dare be late,” Tania gently explained. 

“ I feel dreadfully ill. Ailsie, what are we to do? ” 
I groaned, as we slowly moved across the carre to the 
refectoire. 

“ Keep mum I ” was Ailsie’s terse reply. “ Don’t 
let those girls have the satisfaction of knowing that 
their mean trick succeeded. 

“ I’ll tell you what I ” she gleefully announced. 
“ We’ll get Madame Van Pelt’s permission to go to bed 
early and have a jolly lark in the dormitory all by our- 
selves. That will make those girls mad all right ! ” 

So after dinner, which Ailsie and I forced ourselves 
to eat with a gusto we were far from feeling, we put 
on our most woebegone expressions and in feeble 
voices asked of la directrice permission to immedi- 
ately retire. 

When we said “ma/ d la tete/' in answer to ma- 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 221 


dame’s question of what troubled us, she pinched 
Ailsie’s rosy cheeks with a laugh of amusement. But 
she granted the indulgence we asked, and off the pair 
of us skipped with a sprightliness far out of keeping 
with our role of mal a la fete. 

“ Lovely of madame, wasn’t it, to let us come to 
bed when she knew we were only pretending?” I 
chuckled to Ailsie, as we followed the maid sent with 
us to unlock the dortoir and light the gas. 

“ I’m not so sure about pretending,” Ailsie returned. 
‘‘ I feel ill enough to die when I think of that cheese.” 

I do myself — ugh!” I shudderingly returned. 

We must have gotten away with an awful lot of the 
horrid things Tania told about. I wonder we’re not 
sicker than we are.” 

“ Sherida! ” Ailsie suddenly called, lifting her curly 
head from the basin of water in which she was sousing 
it. ‘‘ What do you say to you and me playing invalids 
all day to-morrow — staying in bed and being fed on 
fried chicken and things like that? I think we de- 
serve a little coddling after what we’ve been through, 
and it will turn the tables finely on those wretched 
girls.” 

I’ve had my music lesson, and literature isn’t until 
the day after to-morrow. I’ll do it 1 ” I breezily an- 
nounced. ‘‘ What fun — in bed a whole day 1 ” 

Next morning, when the rising bell rang at six- 
thirty, Ailsie and I snuggled down yet more deeply in 


222 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


our wadded counterpanes, and to all Miss Leigh’s at- 
tempts to root us out we grunted pitifully. But to 
Mademoiselle Julie, who came trotting along to in- 
vestigate, after the others had gone down to prayers, 
we had a doleful tale to tell of a splitting headache, 
aching joints, and a weakness incomprehensible every- 
where. 

These symptoms we hoped called for a variety of 
delicacies. 

Mademoiselle Julie listened patiently to our list of 
miseries, felt our pulses, examined our tongues, and, 
nodding wisely, went away, locking the door behind 
her. 

Dear Old Prowler ! She’s not half bad ! ” Ailsie 
said, as she bounced into my chambrette and plumped 
her fat little person down beside me. 

She’s a good old thing! ” I rejoined. ‘‘ The more 
especially as I believe she knows we’re fooling.” 

What do you fancy she’ll give us for breakfast? ” 
Ailsie asked, as she hopped gayly off to her own cham- 
brette. 

Something light and Frenchy, I expect,” was my 
merry reply ; boiled eggs, buttered toast, fresh rolls. 
I do love des pistolets” 

I presently fell into a light slumber, from whicn I 
was aroused by Ailsie jerking at one of my long braids 
and calling joyously as she hung over the partition: 
‘'Wake up! Here it comes! Breakfast!” 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 223 

Clump, clump, clump! I heard Old Prowler’s fa- 
miliar tread, accompanied by a pleasant jingling of 
crockery, and hurriedly smoothing the bedclothes to 
receive what was coming, I plumped up the pillows and 
lay back with an expression I tried not to make too 
expectantly greedy. 

Old Prowler arrived with her tray, pushed aside my 
curtains, and upon my commode placed a steaming 
bowl of a concoction known to the inmates of the 
Pensionnat Van Pelt as quatre saisons. 

Quatre saisons was supposed to be a delicious tea of 
rose petals, violets, daisies, and girofleeSj and how so 
bitter a dose could be brewed from compounds so de- 
lectable was hard to understand. 

Old Prowler left a bowl of the nauseous stuff on 
Ailsie’s stand and then briskly departed, securely lock- 
ing the door as before. 

I knelt on my bed and lifted a disgusted face of in- 
quiry above the partition, to meet Ailsie’s disgusted 
face arising from the opposite side. 

“Did you get a bowl of that?” Ailsie sniffed, as 
our noses touched. 

I pointed to my bowl steaming forth an odor that 
made us both curl our lips and gulp hard. 

“ Do you suppose we’ll have to drink it ? ” I asked. 

“ I sha’n’t 1 ” Ailsie spluttered. 

“ Maybe we’d better,” I suggested. “ This may be 
only a preliminary — a sort of appetizer. You know 


224 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


foreigners have their own way of doctoring. I guess 
we’d better swallow this stuff before Mademoiselle 
Julie gets back with breakfast.’’ 

So to the last drop Ailsie and I gulped down the 
bitter tea, and then lay ourselves down to enjoy the 
luxury of listening to bells that we didn’t have to 
obey. 

I fell asleep and dreamed somebody was coming up- 
stairs with a lot of jingling things that suggested a 
noble repast, and awoke to find the dream gloriously 
real. Nearer and nearer came the musical clashing un- 
til it reached the door of the dortoir des Anglaises. 
There it stopped. 

‘‘Our breakfast, Ailsie!” I shouted, to sit up in 
bed, clap a pillow on my knee, and await in joyous an- 
ticipation the bountiful tray that in my mind I saw 
coming. 

“Blessed old Julie!” Ailsie whooped. “Serving 
two breakfasts in one ! Royal scheme ! ” 

The key grated in the lock, the door opened, and 
tramp, tramp, tramp pounded the welcome steps, and 
tinkle, tinkle, tinkle clinked crockery and metal. Out- 
side my curtains the steps came to a halt. I glimpsed 
short skirts, wooden shoes, and thick ankles. 

“ It’s Leontine ! ” I announced. “ Mademoiselle 
Julie has sent Leontine! Here we are, Leontine!” 

My curtains were jerked aside, and I turned a smil- 
ing face to meet the grinning face of the Flemish 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 225 

house maid, who carried no tray of fragrant coffee, 
buttery toast, succulent steak, crisp salad, and savory 
omelet, but in one red paw grasped pail, mop, and 
scrubbing-brush, and in the other a tin dustpan and 
three crockery water- jugs, whose jingling made the 
music that had so cruelly deceived me. 

‘‘Our breakfast, Leontine!’’ I indignantly de- 
manded. 

“ Tee-hee-hee-hee ! Leontine idiotically giggled. 

“ Has that miserable girl brought nothing? Ailsie 
popped over the partition like an angry jack-in-the- 
box. 

“ Tee-hee-hee-hee ! ” Leontine snickered, as she 
carefully closed my curtains and jinglingly clumped 
away. 

“ ril not stand this ! ” Ailsie raved. “ It’s past ten 
o’clock and not a bit of nourishment have we had ex- 
cept that bowl of nasty herb tea. No more of this 
fool business for me! I shall dress and go down- 
stairs.” 

“ But, Ailsie, we said we were suffering from la 
migraine,'* I reminded her. “ You know foreigners 
believe in a sort of starvation treatment for that. 
Let’s wait and see what happens at noon.” 

“If what happens is no different from what’s al- 
ready happened, I get out of this ! ” Ailsie announced 
with fierce determination. 

“ Leontine! ” she suddenly shouted, as an icy blast 


226 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


pouring full upon us announced that Leontine was 
opening windows. 

''Cease a Vinstant!*' Ailsie lifted a wrathy coun- 
tenance over her curtain-top to shout. ‘‘ Don’t you 
know we are ill — very ill — ‘ tray mallard ’ ! ” 

Leontine’s answer to this frenzied appeal was to 
splash a bucket of water over the floor and proceed 
to mop with an energy that sent sprays of muddy slop 
flying in every direction. 

‘‘ This is disgraceful ! This is abominable ! It’s a 
crime to expose two invalids to such an atmosphere! 
The London Times should hear of this!” spluttered 
Ailsie, who, jumping out of bed to steal extra cover- 
ings from another chambrette, plumped her naked foot 
squarely into a pool of icy slush. 

Cold, miserable, hungry, the two of us burrowed 
deep under the bedclothes while Leontine completed 
her round of scrubbing, making beds, and filling wa- 
ter-jugs. 

Not until she had reclosed the windows and gone 
away, did we venture to poke the tips of our noses into 
the outer air. 

The big bell in the car re was ringing joyously, and 
we knew by the sound of many voices and the scrap- 
ing of many feet that the morning classes were over 
and the girls were marching into the refectoire for 
breakfast. 

‘‘ I know they’re going to have boiled beef with 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 227 

that horrid sour-sweet sauce flavored with mashed 
carrots,” I cheerily observed. ‘‘ Aren’t you glad to 
escape boiled beef with sauce of mashed carrots? ” 

If we get anything better,” Ailsie observed with 
a dreariness that suggested no hope of getting any- 
thing. 

We did get nothing. One o clock, two o’clock, two- 
thirty. The door opened. Mademoiselle Julie, fresh, 
brisk, smiling, appeared with two bowls of steaming 
herb tea. 

Excellent pour la migraine et des nerfs! ” she re- 
marked as she placed her bowls on our commodes. 
‘‘You go a little better already — heinf* 

“We feel a wee bit hungry,” Ailsie murmured 
weakly. 

** Bon! Mademoiselle Julie cheerily ejaculated, as 
she rubbed her hands with a liveliness that suggested 
all was progressing as she approved. ** Le the aux 
quatres saisons is excellent for give Vap petit. Take 
now your repose. I return tout d Vheuref^ 

Two hours later she returned to assuage our fam- 
ished interiors with a tiny glass of raspberry sirup 
and one tiny sugar wafer apiece. 

Then did we unfortunates awaken to realize that in- 
stead of being humored as amusing frauds, the grim 
old Julie was treating us en serieux as invalids, to be 
cured on the plan known among the foreigners as 
maigre. 


228 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


This meant staying in bed all day with nothing to 
eat, which was supposed by the foreigners to be an 
excellent treatment under any conditions, and prob- 
ably explained why the girls of the Pensionnat Van 
Pelt had so few aches and pains. 

“ Never was I so hungry in all my life,” Ailsie 
wailed, after we had devoured the last crumb of our 
tiny sugar wafers and for the third time had run our 
tongues round the insides of our glasses to gather 
up every last smearing of the precious sirup. I 
could eat the bedclothes.” 

And in the gloom, for darkness fell early these 
January days, I could hear Ailsie mouthing ferociously 
as though she were already devouring the blankets. 

“ Let’s try the vocabulary,” I suggested. 

The vocabulary was a list of questions and answers 
relating to breakfast, dinner, and supper, printed in 
the back of guidebooks for the benefit of travelers, 
and the English girls had a theory that a mere read- 
ing through of the appetizing list would appease the 
fiercest pangs of hunger. 

In response to Ailsie’s half-hearted ‘‘ Well, you be- 
gin,” I settled myself comfortably on the pillows and 
proceeded from memory : 

May I help you to a slice of this delicious ham ? ” 

‘‘ A slice ! Thank you ! I prefer the whole ham 
with two dozen fried eggs and several roasted 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 229 

chickens/’ Ailsie promptly answered from the other 
side of the partition. 

Oh, Ailsie,” here I stopped to almost tearfully 
moan, ‘‘ did you ever eat chicken fried Maryland 
style?” 

“ Never heard of it ! ” Ailsie snipped. ‘‘ What’s it 
like?” 

“ Perfectly elegant ! ” I replied with an emphasis 
all the more unctious as in my mind’s eye arose visions 
of the platters served at home. The chicken’s fried 
all crisp and brown with bacon and covered with lots 
of creamy brown gravy. And you eat it with green 
corn and mashed sweet potatoes. You never in your 
life ate anything so good as chicken fried Maryland 
style.” 

“ Sounds fine,” Ailsie admitted, — all but the sweet 
potatoes. I don’t care for anything sweet with po- 
tatoes. Ever eat chicken roasted with sausages and 
served with bread sauce?” 

‘‘Ever eat Philadelphia squabs potted in jelly?” I 
asked. 

“Ever eat jugged hare English style?” Ailsie 
capped this. 

“ Ever eat chicken smothered — ? ” I began. 

“ Oh, go on with the vocabulary ! This chicken talk 
is making me positively savage ! ” Ailsie fiercely inter- 
rupted. 


230 SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

“ Shall we dine 1 proceeded, keeping as closely 
as I recollected to the text. 

‘‘You’d better believe we’ll dine!” was Ailsie’s 
prompt reply. “And, gargon!” she called, with a 
gusto suddenly revived, “ bring quadruple portions of 
everything ! Be quick, fellow ! ” 

“ Bring quails on toast ! ” I shouted. 

“Ribs of beef! Mushroom sauce!” Ailsie fol- 
lowed. 

“ Lemon pie a la meringue! ” I ordered. 

“Broiled lobsters! Filet sole! Sauce tartare!'' 
Ailsie commanded. 

“ Chocolate layer cake ! ” 

“ Potted shrimps ! ” 

“ Ice cream soda ! ” 

“ Gooseberry fool ! ” 

“ Prune whip ! ” 

“ Steamed cockles ! Plum pudding ! Mince pies ! 
Welsh rarebit ! Scotch shortcake ! ” 

“ Ice cream ! Camembert cheese ! Deviled crabs ! 
Lemonade ! Strawberry tartlets ! Sweet-potato pie ! ” 
I reeled off in a delirium of lushness, while Ailsie 
floundered about clamping her jaws in a ferocious 
“ Yow! Yow!” as she pounded her pillows in a ma- 
niacal fury. 

“ Stop it ! Stop it ! ” she screamed. “ I can’t stand 
another word! I’m going to dress and go down- 
stairs ! ” 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 231 

“ We can’t! ” I wailed. We’re locked in! ” 

Ailsie, with a howl of rage, leaped out of bed, I fol- 
lowing, and for the next ten minutes we shook and 
rattled and banged to lift the door off its hinges. No- 
body answered except Marie Michel, a timid little Bel- 
gian girl, who whispered through the keyhole : “ I 

don’t know where to find Mademoiselle Julie and I 
have to go down to the grande classe. I’m afraid to 
stay here in the dark.” 

Too wretched for further effort, Ailsie and I groped 
back to our chambrettes. 

“ Another minute and I’ll eat a cake of soap ! ” 
Ailsie announced through the darkness. 

‘‘ I hate scented soap as an edible ! ” I crossly re- 
turned. 

“ Boiled beef with sour-sweet sauce flavored with 
mashed carrots wouldn’t be so bad,” Ailsie meekly 
suggested. 

Even tartines would be welcome, though they’re 
only sandwiches of too lightly buttered bread,” I re- 
marked. 

In the pocket of my schoohdress I found three 
candy mottoes. I divided themVith Ailsie, and as we 
crunched the pasty things, too miserable to talk, we 
heard the girls march in to dinner. 

“ Ailsie ! ” I gasped in sudden anguish. This is the 
dinner we have religieuse for dessert ! ” 

The long-drawn “ Ah ! ” from Ailsie was followed 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


232 

by a silence that was veritably a silence of abject de- 
spair. 

A religieuse was a perfect dream of a pate. The 
undercrust was a slab of puff paste spread with rasp- 
berry jam capped with a frothy cream tasting of honey, 
orange-flowers, and almonds and was sprinkled with 
chopped nuts. 

And Wilhemina von der Poppe always gives me 
half of her religieuse for my share of sausage and 
choux rouge! I wailed. “ A good religieuse and a 
half lost through your tomfoolery, Ailsie Dunmire! ” 
I turned on her fiercely. 

My tomfoolery ! ” Ailsie began in tones of resent- 
ment. 

But her speech was cut short by sounds of the re- 
fectoire door opening and the girls laughing and chat- 
ting on their way to the salle de gymnastique. 

Above the din of their passing Ailsie and I caught 
the sounds of heavy feet slowly mounting the spiral 
stairs. A faint tinkling of crockery made us both ex- 
claim: ‘‘Dinner at last! Old Julie has not forgot- 
ten us ! ” 

In delighted expectancy we awaited the arrival of 
— well, no matter what, so long as it was edible. No 
mistake this time. Mademoiselle Julie was coming. 
She unlocked the door and laid down her tray with a 
pleasant clatter on top of the long toilet-table while 
she lighted the gas. Then she picked up the tray 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 233 


again, moved our way with agreeable rapidity, drew 
aside the curtains, and appeared with — two bowls of 
herb tea ! 

Aha ! And how do we find ourselves now ? ’’ this 
monster of boarding-school iniquity gayly chirped as 
she laid down the bowls and proceeded to examine our 
pulses and tongues. 

''Bon! Eyes bright, tongues clean, pulses a trifle 
feverish! Another bowl of this excellent the aux 
qnatres saisons and then we’ll have you up in the 
morning better than ever ! I’ll leave the light, mesde- 
moiselles, that you may drink your quatre saisons a 
votre aise/' 

So saying, our tormentor departed, locking, as al- 
ways, the door, and leaving behind her two of the 
maddest and hungriest girls that ever ground their 
teeth in a rage. 

“ You’re not going to drink that poison, are you, 
Ailsie ? ” I asked in a rage. 

“ Not I! ” Ailsie hotly replied. 

" What shall we do with it? ” I inquired. ''If Old 
Prowler comes back and finds that her brew hasn’t 
been swallowed, she’ll stand over us while we drink it. 
And if quatre saisons is horrible hot, it’s fearful cold.” 

“ I’ll tell you what I ” Ailsie announced, trotting into 
my chambrette to unfold her scheme. '‘ We’ll pour a 
few drops of this elixir into everybody’s water-jug, 
and in this way not only get rid of it, but perform an 


234 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


act of philanthropy by giving others a share of this ex- 
cellent the/’ 

Ailsie, thereupon, began at one end of the long toilet- 
table and I at the other, and when we met in the mid- 
dle we all the more gleefully poured the combined 
dregs in the jug we found there because it happened 
to stand under the looking-glass labeled '' Roberta 
Georgina Wilcox.” 

‘‘There!” Ailsie exclaimed in relief as we turned 
the bowls upside down for the housekeeper to see. 
“ It does me good once in a while to feel spiteful.” 

I fell sound asleep after this, and when I awoke 
the girls were coming up-stairs to bed. Some of them 
peeped into my chambrette to say : “ Awfully sorry 

for you ! Good-night ! ” 

But one, Marie Michel, stopped long enough to 
throw something on my bed with a kindly, “ There, 
eat that, you poor thing! ” And before I could thank 
her she was gone. 

The gift left by this angel of mercy was a tartine 
of two thick slices of bread sandwiched with several 
slices of a deeply red, savory-smelling sausage. 

I waited only long enough to make sure that Ailsie 
had been as thoughtfully remembered. Then, clutch- 
ing my treasure with greedy hands, I fell to and de- 
voured the delicious morsel with an appetite that was 
positively ferocious. 

I had just swallowed the last mouthful and was 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 235 


smacking my lips and longing for more, when Tad 
bounced in. 

How do you feel ? I want to tell you something 
funny that happened ! she staccatoed in a giggling 
breath. 

“ One of the Belgians got a hamper from home,^^ 
Tad snickered so that she could hardly articulate, and 
in it was a sausage — a great big fat sausage done 
up in silver paper — ” 

“ Was the girl Marie Michel ? I interrupted. 

“ Yep! ” was Tad’s brief and inelegant reply. 

“ And was the sausage of a deep red color, awfully 
salty, and full of garlic?” I continued. 

“Why, how did you know?” Tad queried in 
round-eyed wonder. 

“ Because Marie Michel has just been here and left 
me the loveliest tartine packed full of the loveliest fat 
salty sausage 1 ” I gleefully announced. 

“Did you eat it?” Tad asked, the wonder in her 
eyes slowly melting into an expression curiously 
strange. 

“ Eat it I Well, maybe you wouldn’t eat it if you 
were as hungry as I was ! ” I returned with great em- 
phasis. “ What are you looking so scared about, 
anyway ? ” 

Tad slowly rose from her seat on the bed and fixed 
me with an expression that made her look hideously 
wild. 


236 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


** Sherida Monroe ! ’’ she gasped. “ Do you know 
what you’ve done ? You’ve eaten horse ! ” 

‘‘ Horse ! ” I gurgled — my turn to look wild. 

‘‘Yes, horse!” Tad repeated. “That sausage was 
horse. You’ve eaten horse, Sherida Monroe — ugh ! ” 
And with shuddering ejaculations my sister left me 
to wrestle with my agony alone. 

Tad had barely gone when Minty Maxwell poked 
in her smug face to warningly whine: “If Marie 
Michel brings you a tartine, don’t eat it. It’s made 
of horse. But do as you like, I don’t care I ” 

Upon the heels of Minty came Emily Glover. I 
headed her off with a curt “ I’ve eaten it ! ” 

“Ah pump!” was Emily’s booming ejaculation of 
horror, as she turned on her heel and fled. 

I crept weakly to my knees and peered over the 
partition. 

One glance at Ailsie as she sat huddled in a miser- 
able heap with her face screwed into a knot of speech- 
less disgust, revealed that she had heard the worst. 

I crawled back, closed my eyes, and prayed that I 
might die. 

Claire de Miron stole in to see me before the lights 
were turned out, and purred over me with all sorts 
of flattering little speeches about how sorry she was 
to see me ill, how she missed me all day, and how she 
wished she could do something to make me feel bet- 
ter. 


AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE 237 

But I very ungratefully pretended to be too ill to 
converse, or even listen, and kept my eyes so per- 
sistently closed that Claire, in decency, could do no 
less than go away. 

The lights had been out but a few minutes and I 
was still awake, wondering why all these horrible 
things that had happened to me didn’t make me feel 
worse, when I was conscious of somebody stealing into 
my chambrette, and somebody leaned over and whis- 
pered so softly that, had I been asleep, I should not 
have awakened, Bonne nuit, Cherie, honne nuit! ” 

But when I reached out a hand to touch the mys- 
terious visitant, nothing was there. And I fell asleep 
and dreamed that she who so silently had come and 
gone was Laurice de Crevier. 


CHAPTER XVII 


I MEET MON AMIE 

S ATURDAY evening mending-hour found me in 
the grande classe with the Belgians, for since I 
had entered the Deuxieme Cours I went no more 
with the English in the salle de professeur, but spent 
my Saturday evenings in the grande classe learning 
to patch and darn in the artistic way the Belgian girls 
were taught to do these things. 

On this particular Saturday evening I had resigned 
my seat in the second row to Marie-Henriette-Louise- 
Stephanie-^Clementine Pons (Marie Pons we called 
her), the queen’s god-daughter, whose amie intime had 
the desk next to mine; and from the back corner, 
where I had taken refuge, I could see Laurice de 
Crevier sitting all by herself in the deserted front 
row, for Tania La Chapelle was snooping somewhere 
with Tad, Octavie de Beauchemin and Renee Dupont 
had joined companions in another row, and Claire de 
Miron was upstairs with Ghislaine taking a Flemish 
lesson from a master who came at all sorts of erratic 
hours. 

Now was my opportunity to make peace with 
Laurice de Crevier. One would have thought it the 
238 


I MEET MON AMIE 


239 


simplest thing in the world for me to have seated 
myself beside her and spoken a few friendly words, 
but a stupid feeling of self-conscious pride held me 
back. 

What would Laurice think of me? Wouldn't she 
perhaps consider my tardy welcome both silly and im- 
pertinent? Wasn't she by this time Vamie intime of 
Claire de Miron? Suppose Claire should come back 
just in time to see Laurice's chilling reception of my 
officious advances. I could well imagine how disagree- 
ably haughty Laurice could be if she wished. 

So I stayed where I was in the far rear, but as I 
watched the graceful poise of Laurice's dark head, as 
I caught the gleam of her dark eye, and saw the 
pathetic droop of her beautiful mouth, as from time 
to time she turned her profile my way, the deep sym- 
pathy I felt for her unknown trouble returned strong 
as ever. Oh, for the courage to cross the room, give 
her my hand, and say, ‘‘ Let me be your friend, 
Laurice ! " 

Meanwhile I was in very uncomfortable quarters 
on the end of the bench in the last row, for each new 
arrival at the opposite end shoved the line along until 
my share of room was a mere edge, and I held that 
by sheer grip only, while the girls continued to squeeze 
in and pile on in the disorganized way the Belgian 
girls liked. 

At last their antics overbalanced the bench, and 


240 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


amid squeals of delighted laughter over tumbled the 
bunch in the thick of the sort of frolic they loved, 
with the queen's god-daughter screaming the loudest 
as she pawed the air with spidery hands and feet. 

I managed to land on my heels and to extricate my- 
self from the squirming mass, and as Miss Leigh, but 
slightly disturbed by this usual Saturday evening ca- 
tastrophe, looked up and saw me, she called : “ Come 

to the front. Miss Monroe ! There is no need of over- 
crowding in the back row ! There are plenty of seats 
this way ! ” 

She pointed to the empty front row as she spoke, 
and as I held back, hesitating to intrude where I 
thought I was not wanted, Laurice turned, smiled, and 
half extended her hand, and, without in the least know- 
ing how it happened, I found myself sitting beside 
her with our hands clasped in a friendship that I 
knew was to last all our lives. 

“ Come ! Let us get away somewhere alone ! I 
have so much to say to you ! ” were Laurice's first 
eager words as soon as the bell for the closing of the 
mending-hour had rung. 

Claire de Miron had not yet come back, and in my 
anxiety to escape before her return, I hurried Laurice 
out of the noisy grande classe into the quiet little pass- 
ageway leading to the “ Loft." 

By seating ourselves on the lowest step and leaving 
the door ajar, just light enough came through the 


I MEET MON AMIE 


241 


passage-window for us to glimpse each other’s faces. 

The very first day I saw you, Sher — Cher — 
Laurice stammered prettily, looking at me with a 
questioning smile. 

The English girls call me Sherry,” I explained, 
‘‘ but the Belgians nearly all say ‘ Cherie,’ unless they 
are angry, when they call me Mademoiselle Sherida. I 
should like you to call me Cherie.” 

‘‘ I will call you Cherie,” Laurice returned. It 
is very pretty and has a sweet meaning in our lan- 
guage. 

‘‘ That first day, Cherie, in the salon, when I had 
come with my sister to visit the school,” Laurice went 
on with her story, “ I made up my mind that I wanted 
you for my friend. I saw so much kindness and sym- 
pathy in your face. And then to discover that it was 
all a mistake ! Ah, it was cruelly disappointing ! ” 

“ All silly pretense, Laurice,” I confessed. 

‘‘ And you remember the night I went up-stairs with 
a mal a la tHe and Claire de Miron went with me? ” 
Laurice continued. ‘‘ I said to Claire, ‘ Give hon soir 
to your friend for me.’ I thought perhaps that would 
bring you to me. But it did not.” 

“ Claire never told me ! ” I exclaimed in an indig- 
nation so fierce that Laurice hurried to say soothingly, 
as though calming a cross child : “ Claire, of course, 

forgot. It was not a matter of great import to her.” 

‘‘ And that noon recess,” Laurice recalled, when 


242 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


I saw you going away by yourself, I felt I was doing 
wrong to take your friend from you. I remembered 
that Madame Van Pelt had called you and Claire des 
inseparables. But when I sent Claire to ask you to 
come with us, you refused. Ah, Cherie, that was 
really unkind ! ’’ 

‘‘ Pride, silly pride, Laurice,” I now gladly admitted. 

“ Why were you so long in coming here, Laurice? 

I asked, after all our mistakes and misunderstandings 
had been cleared up. 

I was ready to come on the instant,’' Laurice re- 
plied. But there were many things to prevent. My 
sister — ma soeur — she hesitated — ‘‘ has only me 
and — and — ” 

“ And she couldn’t part with you,” I finished the 
sentence for her. 

‘‘ But that day, Cherie,” Laurice went on with a 
queer little smile, “ that day we met near the flower- 
market — tu fen souviensf — my sister was going to a 
great party — une affaire bien distinguee — and the 
maid of the pension and I had been sent out to buy 
flowers and des confections de toilette for my sister. 
We were hurrying back, for nous etions bien pressees, 
and there in the little rue oi la Grande Place I ran 
across you ! ” 

“ And wasn’t I glad and surprised to see you ! ” I 
interrupted. There wasn’t a day, Laurice, that I 
didn’t look for you ! ” 


I MEET MON AM IE 


243 


And I you ! ” Laurice in her turn confessed. ‘‘ But 
that day my mind was made up, and I went home and 
told my sister that I was going to be eleve of the 
Pensionnat Van Pelt. Et me voild ! " 

Another time I saw you in a restaurant,’’ I said. 

You did not see me. You were with your sister 
and a lot of grand Belgian officers. Next to you sat 
a big man that you didn’t seem to want to talk to. 
You wore a stylish white hat and red roses pinned to 
your jacket.” 

Don’t talk about it, Cherie, please ! ” Laurice in- 
terrupted with an impatience so sharp that, fearing my 
personal comment had offended, I hurried on : ** The 

last time I saw you, Laurice, you were praying in the 
old cathedral of Ste. Gudule. You were very sad. I 
thought at first you were crying. I wanted so much 
to help you, but all I could do was to pray God would 
answer your prayer. For what were you praying so 
hard, Laurice ? ” 

I was praying for something that I wanted very 
much,” Laurice softly answered. 

The careful opening and shutting of a near-by door, 
followed by footsteps cautiously stealing our way, put 
a short stop to our conversation, and then a voice in 
an almost imperceptible undertone called, ** Laurice, 
are you there ? ” 

Claire de Miron ! ” I whispered, clapping a silenc- 
ing hand over Laurice’s mouth. 


244 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


But she, not understanding, playfully drew my hand 
away, and pushing wide the door of the Loft,’* she 
called : “ Here, Claire ! On the steps ! ” 

“ But you are not alone ! Who is with you ? ” 
Claire peered through the dimness as she pushed in be- 
side Laurice. 

“ Only Cherie,” Laurice answered. 

“ At last Cherie and I have managed to get ac- 
quainted,” Laurice explained, ‘‘ and already we have 
settled to become the best of friends.” 

Claire’s voice was sweet as a bird’s twitter as she 
said : Some of the girls told me they had seen you 

leave the grande classe this way, when I asked for you 
after coming down from my legon de Flamand. But 
they said nothing about anybody being with you. I’ll 
go away if I am trop/' 

Mais non!'^ Laurice exclaimed, reaching out im- 
pulsive hands to prevent Claire leaving. “ Cherie and 
I being des amies intimes does not mean that we are 
not all three to be friends — the very best of com- 
rades.” 

So Claire stayed, and, whether pleased or not con- 
cerning the understanding between Laurice and me, 
she chatted very agreeably on the stairs of the Loft ” 
until the bell called us to prayers. 

‘‘ Did Claire de Miron find you all right ? ” were 
Tad’s words to me in the dormitory later. She was 
in a great stew not to see you in the grande classe 


I MEET MON AMIE 


245 


when she came down from her Flemish. I told her 
you had gone off with Laurice de Crevier. I don’t 
think she. liked the idea of you running away with her 
friend, judging by the way she ran after you.” 

And Tad popped back her curly head over the par- 
tition to sing out a saucy : 

“ When you are sad or happy, 

Or perhaps forgot, 

ril be your friend, dear sister, 

Whether you want me or not” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


MYSTERY 

T he sadness that had so greatly attracted me in 
Laurice de Crevier’s face, I soon discovered was 
no accidental or cultivated trick of expression. 
Her life held a mystery — and a sorrowful one. 

I saw it in the drooping lines of her figure, I heard it 
in the tremulous little sighs that unconsciously escaped 
her, I knew it by the heavy eyes and the pale cheeks 
that made me suspect many tears shed in secret. 

With me she was always gaie et riante, but this 
shadow of something concealed stood ever between us, 
and when I chatted happily of my mother, my brothers 
and sisters, my home, she would listen with a longing 
expression that was pitiful. 

“ You should never spurn affection,’’ she would say 
when reproaching me for my unappreciative treatment 
of what she called Claire’s amitie touchante. “ Affec- 
tion is so precious. It is all that makes life worth the 
while.” 

“ But why should I talk to you in this way ! ” she 
once cried out in a sudden passion of impatience. 
“ How can you understand! What can you know of 
246 


MYSTERY 


247 


the emptiness, the tristesse of such a life as mine!'’ 

It was just because Laurice talked in this way, and 
because I so well knew how far she was from being 
cold and indifferent, that I was puzzled. 

I went with her once to salon by special request of 
her sister, and I must confess that I found Laurice’s 
behavior on this occasion far from gracious. Her face 
was set in hard lines I did not like, she returned neither 
the affectionate smiles nor the tender caresses of her 
sister, and when that beautiful sister turned to me and 
said, oh, so fondly: ‘‘Tell me about ma petite 
Nounou! Is she good? Is she happy? Is every- 
body kind to her?” the expression of Laurice’s face 
was positively scornful. 

Oh, how it hurt me to sec her act in this way ! And 
if I had not truly trusted her, had I not felt her need 
of my friendship was so great, I never could have 
overlooked it. 

Another time, a Thursday visiting afternoon, the 
wind blew such a hurricane from the North Sea that 
we looked for neither visitors nor masters, for it was 
as much as one’s life was worth to venture into the 
streets, with the chimney-pots and heavy iron shutters 
threatening every moment to tumble down on one’s 
head. 

So, to compensate the girls for the loss of their visi- 
tors, Madame Van Pelt gave them the afternoon for a 
holiday. Laurice and I promptly slipped away to the 


248 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


salle de gymnastique to snuggle down before the cheery 
little stove for several hours of cosy chat. 

** Isn’t it jolly to be here and listen to the wind 
moaning and banging things about outside ! ” I de- 
lightedly exclaimed. 

Barely had I spoken when in ran Ghislaine de 
Miron, shrieking in her shrill soprano: *‘To salon, 
Mademoiselle de Crevier! Ta soeur est id!” 

I certainly was disappointed to lose Laurice in this 
way, but Laurice was positively white. I had never 
seen her look so angry — and her voice was quite 
hoarse with passion as she said, ‘‘ I’ll be back as soon 
as I can.” 

Oh, la-la-la ! ” the small Ghislaine was impishly 
singing. ** Laurice de Crevier will be the only one 
with des bonbons this afternoon! Think of anybody 
coming out such a day! I should say it wasn’t safe 
even in a carriage ! Catch my mother coming to see 
us in a hurricane like this ! ” 

Laurice didn’t come back until nearly time for the 
dinner bell to ring, and as I wrapped half of the big 
warm shawl around her as we crouched before the 
now dying embers of the little stove, I said cheerily, to 
make her feel I hadn’t grudged her being away, ‘‘ How 
good of your sister to come such a dreadful day ! ” 

I wish she hadn’t come ! I wish she’d stayed 
away ! ” Laurice suddenly cried out, throwing from 
her the flowers she held, with an intensity that in- 


MYSTERY 


249 

stinctively made me shrink from her, shocked by what 
looked like so heartless a display of ingratitude. 

She must have guessed something of this, for, 
catching my hand, she said in the gentle way that was 
one of her charms : Don’t mind my raving, Cherie. 

It is only because I am cross. Think no more about 
it.” 

I was only too glad to forget for the sake of the 
friendship between us, but there were times when not 
to remember was hard. Indeed, among the many noble 
qualities of Laur ice’s character the one blemish I found 
most difficult to overlook was her attitude toward her 
sister. 

No mother could have been more devoted. She 
spent every visiting afternoon at the school, staying 
always to the last moment of the time limit. Sorties, 
Laurice was the first to go and the last to return, and 
at a repetition of music never did this good sister fail 
to appear, which was something that didn’t often hap- 
pen with mothers. 

Yet when Laurice was called to salon she showed 
not the slightest excitement or gladness, and she was 
sometimes so deliberate in taking her departure that 
the maitresse in charge had on several occasions to call 
sharply, ‘‘ Your sister waits. Mademoiselle de 
Crevier ! ” 

And when Laurice came back, instead of being joy- 
ful and full of happy talk, she was sadder and more 


250 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


reticent than ever. Once after a sortie, when I asked 
her how she passed the day, she answered frowningly, 
“ Wishing it were time to come back to the pension- 
nat.” 

Sometimes I did not know whether I most loved or 
admired Laurice. I had immense respect for her ac- 
quirements, her masterly way of reeling off facts and 
handling encyclopedias, and how I admired the beauti- 
ful French she spoke! 

How deliciously she rolled her r's deep down in that 
slim brown throat of hers ! How exquisitely soft were 
her vowels! With what musical little singsongy in- 
tonations she threw off the ends of her delicate sen- 
tences! I had never heard any one speak French like 
her, unless perhaps Mademoiselle Tirlemont, the 
teacher of declamation. 

The mystery to me was why Laurice, with her splen- 
did intellect, should care so much to acquire a few 
trumpery little accomplishments. Many times she 
would look at me and exclaim with a pathetic sigh, 
"'If only I could play and draw as you do! ” 

‘‘But why should you care?’’ I would reply. 
“ What need have you of silly accomplishments? ” 

“But I must have them! I must! I must!” 
Laurice would exclaim with the impetuous fierceness 
that was so strong in her. 

And back she would go to plod through scales and 


MYSTERY 


251 

stupid drawing-studies with fingers that were almost 
hopelessly stiff. 

In one of the dark, unused cabinets opening off the 

Trou ” passageway was an ancient spinet, long dumb 
through many years of age and abuse, and here I 
would repeatedly find Laurice plugging away at the 
mute keys with dogged patience through a weary round 
of finger-exercises. 

“ Tell me, Cherie, do you think I ever shall learn 
to play?’’ she asked me one day when I discovered 
her here. “ Do you think if I should practise ever 
and ever so hard that I shall ever play as you do ? '' 

‘‘Never as I do, Laurice,’’ I teased. “You know 
I’m a rare genius and I’ve been learning music all my 
life.” 

“ And I’m only just beginning and haven’t any 
talent at all,” Laurice sighed so bitterly that I laughed. 

“ Not the least bit, goosie, and I’m not going to flat- 
ter you by saying you have. I don’t see why you don’t 
give up this tiresome practice, Laurice,” I added, be- 
coming suddenly serious. “ You know in your heart 
you despise it. Give it up.” 

“ I can’t give it up ! You don’t understand, mon 
amie ! ” Laurice returned so sadly that I immediately 
reproached myself for the levity and resolved never 
again to laugh at or interfere with the things she 
took so much to heart. 


252 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


What I admired most of all in Laurice was her 
noble character. There was nothing the least bit sweet 
about her. Elizabeth was sweet, like a lovely flower, 
and Claire de Miron was, so far as went a smooth 
smile and an unruffled temper. But Laurice wasn't 
even amiable enough to be affable. The little girls, to 
whom she was always kind and helpful, loved her, but 
the older girls called her proud and disagreeable, and 
took no pains to know her. 

She was more like a hot-headed, high-spirited boy 
than a girl, and even as a girl I could easily imagine 
her with the red scarf of the Revolution bound around 
her brow, her black locks flying, her black eyes burning 
with the fever of patriotism, as shouting Aux armesl 
Aux armes!'' she led the mobs to victory — or death. 

I had known for some time that Laurice was not a 
rich girl. I had surprised her one day sewing in one 
of the dim little cabinets near the “Trou" where she 
so often stole away to practise. 

She was sitting close up against the glass door to 
catch every ray of the narrow passageway, and when 
she saw me she started violently and tried to hide 
from me what she was doing. But when I seated 
myself beside her on the little bench and said with 
reproach, “ What are you doing here all by yourself, 
Laurice ? " she immediately answered, “ I am turning 
my old black dress and I'm too proud to let the others 


see. 


MYSTERY 


253 


“ You know, Cherie, we are not rich, and when one 
is not rich one must practise many little economies/’ 
she added with a light laugh, as though trying to let 
me see that she considered practising economies a very 
trivial affair. 

After that she made no secret of her petit es econo- 
mies to me, and I knew that her dresses were old, and 
that she wore patched shoes, and that her gloves were 
the discarded ones of her sister. 

** Rosalie is very beautiful and she lives in the great 
world. One must always keep a brave front to the 
world,” was the explanation Laurice made without a 
trace of resentment. 

Indeed, whatever might have been Laurice’s trou- 
bles, I was pretty sure that poverty was the least of 
them to her, for I never knew a girl who cared less 
about wealth and fine clothes. 

Sometimes I used to wonder if Laurice were quite 
happy with her sister, or rather with her sister’s way 
of living. I talked to Laurice a great deal about my 
home, and occasionally read to her extracts from my 
mother’s letters. The last one, especially, told of all 
sorts of delightful preparations being made for the 
return of Tad and me in August. Laurice, when I 
reached that part of my letter, sighed as she exclaimed. 
What a happy girl you are, Cherie, to have such a 
mother and such a home ! 

You do not know how I love a home! ” she sud- 


254 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


denly cried out with an intensity that filled her eyes 
with tears. ** There is nothing in all this world that 
I love so much as a home, a real home. Oh, I do want 
a home ! ’’ 

But you have a home, Laurice,*’ I gently reminded 
her. ‘‘ Wherever your sister is, is your home.” 

Laurice shook her head with a deprecating sadness. 

In three years we have never lived outside of a 
hotel or a pension,” she said. ‘‘ Rosalie likes the ex- 
citement,” she added simply, as though this was ex- 
planation enough. 

Personally I did not like Laurice’s sister. I never 
cared for big, showy blondes. I was always over- 
powered by their magnificence. More than this, I re- 
sented the beautiful Rosalie living in expensive quar- 
ters and dressing like a queen, while Laurice wore 
turned dresses, patched shoes, and dyed gloves. 

I had seen Rosalie many times since that first visit 
I had made to her in the salon, and I had early dis- 
covered that her handsome face showed hard lines if 
for a single instant she let her brilliant smile relax, 
and I occasionally detected a sharp tone in her laugh- 
ing voice that gave a hint of temper. But, of course, 
none of these things explained Laur ice’s conduct. 

Oh, if she would only tell me her trouble! But she 
never did, and the more I knew Laurice the more I 
was puzzled and the deeper the mystery grew. 


CHAPTER XIX 


LAURICE IN A NEW ROLE 

L ent was now rapidly approaching, and the time 
was near for us to think of our preparations 
for the great carnival ball. 

The demoiselles of the distinguished Pensionnat 
Van Pelt of course took no part in the street frolics 
of masquerading and confetti-throwing, but every 
year, to celebrate the joyous occasion, they were al- 
lowed to have a grand masquerade ball to which were 
invited all relations and friends not of the male sex, 
for not even fathers were permitted to be present at 
the bal masque of the Pensionnat Van Pelt. As for 
brothers and the objects known as des cousins, let them 
but show the tips of their impertinent noses within the 
sacred precincts of this foreign girls’ school! 

The Belgians had decided this year, instead of the 
old, established institution of tableaux that had been 
the shining mark of their carnival ball, to unite their 
forces in a dramatic presentation of scenes from Ra- 
cine’s Esther.” 

Laurice de Crevier was selected by the Belgians to 
take the part of Esther, both because she looked the 
255 


256 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


character of the slender, dark-eyed queen and because 
of her exquisite pronunciation of the French language. 

Even I was astonished by the vehemence with which 
Laurice plunged into the role assigned her. We — the 
whole school — were in the grande classe, and the Bel- 
gians were utilizing the short half hour before dinner 
in discussing and distributing the characters for their 
great play. 

Laurice, from a tiny pocket edition of Racine, was 
reading half aloud, in exquisitely modulated tones, 
selections from the lines of ‘‘ Esther,” and whether 
the music of the words or the admiring '"Bis! Bis!'' 
of the girls who listened, went to her temperamental 
French head I do not know, but suddenly she leaped 
to her feet, shook down her dark hair, snatched from 
a chair the scarlet shawl of “ Mees,” and, twining it 
about her slender height in imitation of a royal drapery, 
in a voice that fairly thrilled with intensity, broke into 
the glorious lines beginning, 0 Dieu, confonds 
I'audace et I'imposture! " 

She declaimed to the end, and as she solemnly pro- 
nounced the closing words — Un ministre ennemi de 
votre propre gloire , . — she stood for a moment, 

hand uplifted, face transfigured, like a veritable 
Esther. 

It was magnificent. The Belgian girls shouted 
themselves hoarse in their admiration and joy. Their 
play now was an assured success. I was too overcome 


LAURICE IN A NEW ROLE 


257 


to speak, but Claire de Miron, always quick to do the 
pretty, graceful thing, all smiles hurried up and gushed, 
as she kissed Laurice warmly on each cheek : Merci, 

mon amie, grand merci! You have rendered us great 
service ! 

The Britishers sputtered enviously among them- 
selves, for the success of Esther ” meant the doom 
of their tinsel, pantomimic little tableau of the “ Sleep- 
ing Beauty,” and to be outrivaled by the foreigners was 
a bitter dose to the British. 

“ Actress blood ! ” pooh-poohed Roberta Wilcox, 
who was to be the handsome prince. ‘‘You can’t tell 
me Laurice de Crevier hasn’t actress blood in her 
veins. I am sure mama wouldn’t be at all pleased 
to know that Louise and I were at school with an 
actress.” 

“ Do as you like, I don’t care ! ” peeped up the com- 
plainy little pipe of Minty Maxwell, “ but I for one 
don’t propose coming to the carnival to be treated to 
any such vulgar exhibition as we’ve been treated to by 
Laurice de Crevier.” 

“ It was glorious, Laurice ! ” I told mon amie when 
I got her to myself. “ I hardly knew you. You 
seemed lifted out of yourself — like one inspired.” 

“It is life! It is living — to be able to interpret 
the great thoughts of great minds ! ” Laurice replied, 
still under the spell of her great elation. 

The Belgians all that evening made much of Laurice. 


258 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


They fought to sit next to her, to encircle her with 
clinging arms, to call her pet names, and as I noted her 
sparkling eyes and bright color, as I listened to her 
enthusiastic planning of the beautiful costume she 
would wear, I secretly rejoiced to see her so happy. 

Next day, Thursday, all was changed. Laurice 
came down from salon gloomy, depressed, almost sul- 
len, and to the consternation of the school announced 
that she would not take the part of Esther. 

To every appeal of the disappointed Belgians she 
politely, firmly, and a little ungraciously, I thought, 
made always the same answer, — “ I thank you, but it is 
impossible,” — until, disgusted by what they called her 
bete perversite, the girls marched off and chose big, 
black-eyed, black-browed Octavie de Beauchemin in 
her stead. 

‘‘ Believe me or not, as you please, but it’s not meself 
that would play a trick like that — believe me or not, 
as you please,” the belligerent Pat blattered, fanning 
the air with plump, dimpled hands, as though shooing 
away flies. 

Not even to me did Laurice give other reason for 
her inexplicable refusal to keep the role of Esther than 
she had given to the others. 

‘‘ Won’t your sister be very much disappointed? ” I 
asked her. 

Rosalie will not be here for the carnival ball,” she 


LAURICE IN A NEW ROLE 259 

answered with a stiffness that made me feel that even 
I was not privileged to ask questions. 

The carnival was yet some little time away. Tania 
La Chapelle, who had developed a troublesome night- 
cough, had been moved into the infirmary with Tad 
to keep her company, and I was running down for a 
sly visit when I was met on the stairway by Ailsie 
Dunmire, who held me back to say : ** I advise you 

to go to your friend. Sherry. She seems to be in 
trouble. You’ll find her in the little cabinet near the 
^ Trou.’ ” 

Off I flew, running round by the courtyard and the 
terrace, the sooner to reach my poor Laurice. I found 
her crouched on the floor of the tiny room where so 
often I had discovered her sewing, with her face buried 
in her hands, and when I dropped down beside her 
and drew away her hands with a cry of “Laurice!” 
she burst into such wild sobbing that I could do nothing 
but smooth her hand with a sympathetic pressure, while 
I murmured entreatingly : “What is the matter, 
Laurice? Tell me, what is the matter?” 

“ Oh, everything is the matter, Cherie ! ” she an- 
swered in a voice broken by sobs as she lifted to mine 
— oh, what a miserable, tear-sodden face ! “ I am 

wretched, wretched, so wretched that nothing seemed 
to do me any good but to crawl away into this place 
by myself and cry my heart out.” 


26 o 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


‘‘Won’t you tell me what the trouble is? Won’t 
you let me help you? Why can’t you let me be your 
friend?” I entreated. 

Laurice fixed me for a moment with her poor, grief- 
swollen eyes, then, with the impulsiveness that was so 
strong a part of her nature, she cried: “You shall 
be my friend ! Why should I not tell you everything? 
Why between friends who love and trust as we do 
should there be anything hidden? You shall know all, 
Cherie ! 

“ But it is of no use,” she wailed, falling once more 
into her old dejection. “ I shall have no chance to 
tell you. We are never alone.” 

“ We shall be alone,” I returned, resolute not to be 
cheated out of the confidence that I felt was my right. 
“ We shall make an opportunity. Listen. I dare not 
stay longer from the grande classe, but at four sharp 
Monsieur Gilbert comes to rehearse the choruses of 
‘ Esther,* when I shall be free. Where shall I find 
you at that hour ? ” 

“ On the terrace playground,” Laurice answered, — 
“ under the old pear tree nearest the corner of the 
stone wall. No one goes there. We shall be safe for 
an hour at least. 

“ But you are sure you care to hear my story, 
Cherie?” she asked in a sudden access of emotional 
morbidness. “Are you sure you will not forget to 
come ? ” 


LAURICE IN A NEW ROLE 261 


“Laurice!"’ I exclaimed in injured reproach. “I 
shall be counting the minutes.’’ 

“ Then go, go ! ” she implored, pushing me away 
with nervous impatience. “ I am so afraid some one 
will come and find you here. I shall stay to finish my 
practice and then slip out to the terrace by way of 
the salle de gymnastique. You won’t forget — the 
pear tree near the orchard.” 

I was hurrying away when Laurice again stopped 
me. 

“ I am thinking, Cherie,” she said, that perhaps I 
should not tell you after all. Why should I sadden 
you with my troubles ? I am a miserable, morbid crea- 
ture, not fit to be the friend of one who knows so little 
about trouble as you do. I cannot bear to burden 
you with my sorrows. Why should I ? ” 

‘‘ Because I want you to,” I answered with affec- 
tionate emphasis. ‘‘ I should not be your friend, 
Laurice, if I did not help you bear your sorrows. I 
am sure you know that.” 

Laurice kissed me to show me that she appreciated 
what I had said, but I intuitively felt that she was only 
half reconciled to giving me her confidence, which de- 
termined me more than ever to be prompt at the meet- 
ing-place. 

Never did minutes drag so slowly for me as did 
those of the next three quarters of an hour. I was 
haunted by the possibility of Laurice, with her sensi- 


262 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


tive scruples and morbid heroism, slipping away from 
me, and I was in a ferment lest anything should oc- 
cur to prevent me from being at the appointed time 
under the old pear tree. 

As it was, just as I was slipping out of the grande 
classe as the bell was striking the hour of four, I was 
recalled by Mademoiselle Malaise, who was saying 
with French politeness, ‘‘ Will you kindly go through 
the upstairs cabinets de musique, Sherida, and see if 
any of the young ladies at practice are needed for the 
chorus of ‘ Esther 

To fly upstairs, three steps at a time and dash 
through the practice-rooms, delivering my message as 
I ran, was the affair of a minute, but unfortunately, 
coming down, in my blind haste I banged full force 
into Marie Minet, who was coming up with her arms 
full of map studies held with the greatest care to pre- 
vent blotting. 

The force of my blow sent the maps flying and 
dashed the glasses from poor Marie's near-sighted eyes, 
and by the time Marie and her maps were once more 
safely on the way, I had lost fully five precious min- 
utes of my precious time. I reached the courtyard 
nervous and breathless, only to find the way barred by 
Claire de Miron, who held me back to say in her sweet- 
est, most insinuating tones : Where are you going 

in such a hurry? And where is Laurice? As King 


LAURICE IN A NEW ROLE 263 

Assuerus I don’t have to sing in the chorus of * Esther/ 
so I have this whole hour to myself and have been 
looking everywhere for you and Laurice to come to 
the front garden with me. I want to show you the 
loveliest bed of violets I have just found.” 

“ I cannot stop, Claire,” I impatiently protested, 
while trying to push by. “ I am going to meet Laurice 
on the terrace. She has something special to say to 
me. 

That means that I shall be intruding if I come 
too ? ” Claire insinuated, peering into my face with a 
little pouting smile. 

‘‘No, no! You must not come! Please let me 
pass ! ” I pleaded, too desperate to care whether I was 
rude or not. 

But Claire held me fast with a soft but exceedingly 
firm hand. 

“ I shall not intrude, never fear,” she assured me, 
always with that engaging smile. “You shall go to 
Laurice, but first you will come with me to the gar- 
den of the burgomaster to see the violets.” 

“ Not now ! Some other time ! ” I procrastinated in 
a fever of nervousness as I pictured Laurice’s anxious 
waiting. 

“ You will come with me to the garden first,” Claire 
insisted, dragging me with a kittenish playfulness 
toward the garden. “If you don’t,” she threatened, 


264 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


shaking a playful finger in my face, “ I’ll come with 
you to Laurice and stay so that you can’t talk your 
secrets. You’d better be nice to me.” 

All this was said with the most engaging smile, but 
I knew that Claire meant every word, and, to rid my- 
self of the torment, I gave in with an ungracious: 
“ Hurry up, then. I haven’t a second to stay.” 

As I ran into the garden I threw a hurried glance 
toward the terrace in the hopes that I might see 
Laurice and by some sign convey to her the situation. 
But not a glimpse did I catch of my waiting friend. 

“ Laurice is so reasonable. She always understands. 
I can easily explain when I get back,” I kept repeating 
to myself. 

I was not capable of running away, or giving Claire 
the slip, as a Belgian girl would have done, although 
I felt enough like doing this — the more, as the violet- 
bed turned out to be but a handful of pale leaves and 
sickly blossoms. 

I gave but a glance at them, so great was my im- 
patience to get away and so strong my apprehension 
lest too eager a show of my feelings would prompt my 
tormentor to invent new delays. As it was, she in- 
sisted upon me accompanying her yet further into the 
garden in search of more violets, and only when her 
importunities became unbearably insistent did my pa- 
tience give way, and with a defiant, No! I will not 
stay another minute!” off I darted, leaving Claire 


LAURICE IN A NEW ROLE 265 

looking after me with that sweet, inscrutable smile 
compressing her handsomely curved lips. 

No Laurice was on the terrace when I reached the 
old pear tree in the playground corner. Holding to 
the frail hope that possibly she too might have been 
detained, I wrapped my thick shawl about me and 
waited. 

But Laurice did not come, and then, suspecting that 
in her sensitive state of mind she had gone away hurt 
to hide herself, I started to find her. In all our old 
haunts I diligently searched, twice over and then over 
again. But she was nowhere, and coming back to the 
terrace, I found her handkerchief where she had 
dropped it under the old pear tree. I stamped my foot 
in a rage, exclaiming aloud to myself : “ It is all my 

own fault. I deserve what has happened for not 
openly defying Claire.” 

I stayed out under the terrace trees until it became 
dark and so cold that I could stay no longer and so 
returned to the grande classe. 

‘‘Where have you been, Mademoiselle Monroe?” 
snapped Mademoiselle Malaise, who was always cross 
at this hour. 

“ On the terrace,” I answered with defiant indiffer- 
ence, for in my state of mind nothing mattered. 

“ One mark against obedience, and one against order 
for being in a forbidden place during study hour, and 
another for impertinence. I don’t like your tone,” I 


266 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


heard the sharp voice of Mademoiselle Malaise say, as 
I squeezed myself past my classmates, who thought it 
great fun to hold me back by the skirts to make me 
trip over their toes as I went by. 

Laurice wasn't in the grande classe when I re- 
turned, but in my desk I found a scrawling note from 
her, evidently written while agitated. 

Cherie [the note read], I saw you go away 
with Claire while I waited for you under the pear tree 
this afternoon, and at first I was hurt and angry. I 
didn’t mind you being with Claire, for I know you are 
old friends, only that it seemed so indifferent not to 
care that I was waiting. So I went away where I 
knew you wouldn’t think of looking for me, and while 
I was away and became once more calm I saw how 
thoughtless and selfish I was to sadden you with 
my sorrows. You cannot change them, much as I 
know you would wish to, so why darken the few 
months remaining to us to be together by telling you 
gloomy things. Forget the miserable scene of to-day 
and let us be as happy as we can in the sunshine of our 
friendship. 

Always your own loving 

‘‘ Laurice." 

Laurice, how could you treat me so ! How could 
you distrust me even for a single moment 1 " was my 
reproachful greeting as Laurice caught up with me 
in the carre on our way to the salle de gymnastique 
after dinner. 

I was a wicked, wicked girl to be so unreasonable 


LAURICE IN A NEW ROLE 267 

and suspicious ! Laurice confessed as she affection- 
ately linked her arm through mine. ‘‘ But I could not 
help it, Cherie. When Claire, who found me waiting 
on the terrace, asked me to go with her to the burgo- 
master’s garden, I said : ‘Not for worlds ! Cherie 
has promised to meet me here and I would not have 
her come and not find me for all the violets that ever 
grew.’ 

“ Then she ran away, saying laughingly that she 
meant to ask you. 

“‘Ask her!’ I laughed back. ‘You’ll never get 
her. I know her better than that ! ’ 

“ And when I saw that you did go after all, for the 
moment I was so angry that my only thought was to 
go away where you wouldn’t find me.” 

“ No, no! You needn’t tell me anything! ” Laurice 
laughed when I tried to explain how it all happened. 
“ Don’t I know how prettily Claire can tease and coax ? 
And don’t I know how impossible it is for your tender 
little heart to hurt or refuse anybody? My hatefulness 
is to blame for everything. But why should we care 
now, since all has turned out for the best? ” 

“ Are you going to scold me for being a naughty 
girl ? ” here tinkled a silvery, sweet voice over our 
shoulders, and Claire de Miron, thrusting her shining 
blonde head between us, so as to gently push us apart, 
linked her arms in ours with a tenacity not easily 
shaken off. 


268 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


“ But wasn’t I a good girl to send Cherie back to 
you so soon when I wanted her myself ? ” she simpered 
with a coy glance in Laurice’s smiling face. 

“You were, mignonne!** Laurice laughed, giving 
Claire’s pink cheek an approving little pat. 

Claire laughed too, but I, who knew her so well, 
felt that in the depths of her heart Laurice’s gracious 
answer did not please her overmuch. 


CHAPTER XX 


TANIA LA CHAPELLE 

P OOR Tania La Chapelle was in a very bad way 
indeed. The hard little cough that so long had 
rasped her throat suddenly dropped to her chest, 
where it rapidly developed into a hollow, hacking bark 
dreadful to hear. 

Madame Van Pelt immediately wrote to her father 
about it, who sent back word that his daughter was 
to be given every care until he could get to her at the 
Easter holidays, now but a few weeks away. 

“Poor papa! He never has a holiday!'’ Tania 
said to me, before whom she spoke almost as freely as 
before Tad. “ Between writing his books and watch- 
ing over poor mama, who is ill half the time and so 
nervous that little brother Boris has to be sent away, 
he never has a moment to himself.” 

Tania now went to her classes only when she felt 
like it, and had special lunches served to her between 
meals, and drove out with Madame Van Pelt, and had 
so many privileges that at last we girls awoke to the 
fact that Tania La Chapelle was really ill. 

But for a long time no one actually believed in 
Tania except Tad. The girls, most of them, thought 
269 


270 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


that she was only a little more lazy than usual when 
she fell into longer day-dreams, and moved so slowly, 
in a sort of hurt bewilderment, when the girls called to 
her sharply to get out of the way. (One of Tania’s 
trying habits was always to be in the way of quick- 
moving people.) And even the governesses, when 
they saw her huddled up all in a heap over her desk, 
would say half impatiently, half tolerantly: “ Sit up, 
Tania, sit up! You are growing dreadfully round- 
shouldered, child ! ” 

Poor Tania! How it haunts me to recall her feeble 
efforts to straighten herself, — she who had always 
been laughed at for the rigidity of her backbone, — and 
then, lacking the strength to hold herself together, 
would slowly sink back into the old limp, listless atti- 
tude. 

She’s not lazy, she’s weak! ” Tad would valiantly 
retort in answer to the accusations of blame or re- 
proach thrown at her friend by her thoughtless and 
ignorant schoolmates. 

Tad was a noble friend and her devotion to Tania 
was pathetic. I can see her now sitting immovable 
with Tania’s tired head against her shoulder, or with 
her strong young arm thrown about Tania’s form to 
support it as she guided her feeble steps up and down 
the sunny courtyard. 

A dozen times a day she would bathe Tania’s hot 
head, brush and rebraid her hair, — that sunny chest- 


TANIA LA CHAPELLE 


271 


nut hair now fast growing thin and lusterless, — chafe 
warmth into her cold hands, and fan coolness into her 
burning cheeks, fetching and carrying and humoring 
and petting her with the tenderness and patience of a 
mother. 

Tania La Chapelle is growing horribly tyrannical 
and selfish, and Tad Monroe makes a perfect slave 
of herself waiting upon her the way she does,” the 
girls said to one another when they saw these things. 

But all this happened in the beginning. Nobody 
now Called Tania lazy, or selfish, or tyrannical. In- 
deed, everybody was wonderfully good to her. The 
English girls fetched and carried and did their best 
to make her comfortable. The generous, big-hearted 
Belgians fairly showered her with chocolates and 
pates (which Tad and I ate). Their mothers, in the 
sweet way of these foreign mothers, brought delicacies 
*'pour la pauvre malade,* and as for Mademoiselle 
Julie, our beau ideal of crossness and crankiness, she 
was almost absurdly gentle and patient. 

The visiting physician of the school, a fatherly old 
man who came weekly to look after the health of the 
pupils, prescribed all sorts of tonics which Tania faith- 
fully swallowed. But she grew no better. She suf- 
fered no pain, she said, but she was tired. All the 
time she was tired, tired, tired. That was her con- 
tinual complaint, and that racking cough never left 
her. 


272 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


I know the girls wondered among themselves why 
Tania didn’t go home, but we — Tad and I — and of 
course Madame Van Pelt, and perhaps Old Prowler, 
knew that Tania was better at school than she would 
be at home with the student father and the helpless 
little child-mother. 

“ Don’t worry papa ! Please don’t worry papa ! ” 
was Tania’s incessant cry, and Tad confided to* me, 
under the most solemn vow of secrecy, that since 
Tania had become so weak she would hold her up and 
guide her hands so that the father would not miss the 
weekly letter that told him all was well with his daugh- 
ter. 

Poor Tania! What would she have done without 
Tad these sad days! 

We were within less than two weeks of our great 
carnival ball when it became apparent to the least ob- 
serving of us that a curious change had come over 
Tania. She suddenly ceased her fretful complaints 
and unreasonable exactions to become once more her 
gentle, sweet-tempered self. Her eyes lost their fever- 
ish glitter and took on a dreamy far-away expression 
whose unearthly loveliness frightened us, and one had 
to speak to her several times before she heard, or, 
rather, comprehended. 

Then Madame Van Pelt again called in the doctor, 
who this time brought with him a famous specialist. 
What the great man said we never knew, but what we 


TANIA LA CHAPELLE 


273 


did know was that Tania’s father was written to in 
haste, and word came back that Tania was to make 
immediate preparations for leaving school, for her 
father at the moment of writing was arranging to 
leave without delay to take his daughter away to the 
mountains of Switzerland. 

Tania brightened wonderfully at the prospect of 
going away with her father to the beautiful country 
she already had long known and loved, and she chatted 
quite childishly about her schoolmates coming to see 
her in the summer, and of Tad giving up her trip 
home to come and live with her. 

We all felt greatly cheered to see Tania so bright, 
and went about our carnival preparations with much 
lighter hearts. 

So much better did Tania grow that once she even 
showed a flash of her old spirits. She was having a 
traveling dress made for her trip to Switzerland, and, 
because she was unable to undergo the ordeal of fitting. 
Tad, who was of the same height, stood up in her 
place. I, who sat by, was struck to the heart by the 
contrast between the girls : Tania, thin, pale, languid ; 
Tad, plump, rosy, vigorous with health and strength! 

The dress was a serge of navy blue with a loosely 
belted jacket, and because the waist-line wouldn’t meet 
round Tad’s plumpness by some inches, Tania, who 
was watching proceedings stretched upon the chaise 
longue in Madame’s Van Pelt’s private office, fell to 


274 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


laughing in the pretty, odd, chuckling little way that 
was peculiarly her own when highly amused. 

But the weak chuckle suddenly, with almost the 
pathos of a sob, trailed off into the cruel gasping 
cough that pitifully shook Tania’s poor frail body 
and set her crying with the miserable pain of it; and 
while Madame Van Pelt ran to her with a soothing 
drink, and Tad, stumbling over the unhemmed dress, 
flew to soothe and sustain her, I, because I could do 
nothing and could not bear to stay, ran away with a 
lump in my throat. 

The evening before Tania’s father was expected, 
while the girls of the declamatory force of “ Esther ” 
were rehearsing in the big up-stairs’ salle de musique, 
in walked Tania followed by Tad, who was gathering 
up her friend’s various properties. Tania sat down 
upon the piano-stool while Tad searched through the 
rack for music, and she looked so well that one of 
the girls was inspired to entreat : “ Play for us, 

Tania, before you go! It’s ages since we’ve heard 
you play.” 

‘‘Yes, Tania, play something for us — do!” an 
eager chorus shouted. 

“ Play the ‘ Maiden’s Song ; ’ your own arrange- 
ment,” somebody coaxed, referring to the plaintive 
air that Tania played with exquisite tenderness. 

“ No, no! She cannot play! You should not ask 
her ! She is not strong enough ! You must not Tania 


TANIA LA CHAPELLE 


ITS 

— please! '’Tad expostulated, making a movement to 
close the piano and draw Tania away. 

But Tania, with a petulant little movement, like a 
cross child insistent upon having its way, elbowed Tad 
aside, and, pulling herself up into a semblance of her 
old rigidity, laid her slim, white hands over the 
keys and struck the opening notes of the beautiful 
melody. 

Never had Tania played so thrillingly. It was as 
though the long-pent-up emotion of weeks was pour- 
ing itself free, and we gathered about her and lis- 
tened under a spell that made us almost afraid to 
breathe. 

There is one part in the song where, after a dreamy 
wandering of several bars, the melody suddenly re- 
turns with a quickened impulse, and Tania had a pretty 
trick of catching it up with a spirited toss of her head 
and a little swing of her slender body, in a way that 
we always greatly admired. 

She had just reached this critical point and paused, 
when, instead of the pretty swing, the inspiring 
ripple of notes, we heard a convulsive gasp, a dis- 
cordant clashing of notes, and as we watched with 
terror-blanching faces we saw Tania’s eyes slowly 
close and her body sway forward over the keyboard. 

The strong arms of Octavie de Beauchemin caught 
her before she fell, and when Madame Van Pelt ar- 
rived in answer to the frightened messenger sent to 


276 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


bring her, it was to find Tania, a thread of blood trick- 
ling from her pale lips, stretched motionless upon the 
floor, her head in Octavie’s lap, and the girls about 
crying aloud in their helplessness, while Tad knelt be- 
side her moaning piteously: ‘‘Tania, Tania! Look 
at me 1 Speak to me 1 Oh, Tania, Tania ! ” 

Mademoiselle Julie had remedies that soon brought 
Tania back to consciousness, and she was carried away 
to bed. The great doctor was sent for, and over the 
house that night fell a stillness that was like the still- 
ness of death, and made us afraid to look into one 
another’s eyes. 

Laurice and I, in our nightdresses and bare feet, 
stole hand in hand down the long passageway leading 
to the infirmary door. Here we were found by Made- 
moiselle Julie, who, taking pity on our anxious condi- 
tion, let us peep into the room where Tania lay. 

There was no light but the firelight, and by its flick- 
ering glow we could see Tania lying back among the 
white pillows of her little white bed with closed eyes, 
panting feebly for breath, while in a low chair by her 
side sat Tad holding one of the sick girl’s thin hands 
and occasionally passing over her face and hair a 
handkerchief moistened with vinaigre de toilette. 

And Laurice and I crept away, crying chokingly 
over the sorrowful picture. 

Next morning the report was circulated that Tania’s 
father had come, and just before we marched in to 


TANIA LA CHAPELLE 


277 


noonday breakfast word was brought that Tania was 
going, but as she was not able to come herself to say 
good-by, we might stand in the entrance corridor to 
see her as she passed down the front stairs. 

I never shall forget the scene. Miss Leigh, the Eng- 
lish governess who was to accompany Tania as far as 
Paris, where a famous specialist was to be consulted, 
came down first, laden with shawls, and passed on 
swiftly to prepare the carriage. Then came Madame 
Van Pelt, grave and heavy-eyed. And then, several 
steps behind, slowly came the father, carrying Tania in 
his arms as he would carry a little child. 

He was a tall, thin man of erect, soldierly bearing — 
an old man with scant gray hair and upon his haggard 
face the sunken lines that showed that many sorrows 
and few joys had been his portion. 

Tania’s thin arms feebly clasped her father’s neck, 
and her head fell back against his shoulder in a way 
that let us plainly see her face. Her eyes were closed 
as though from exhaustion, and the one who dressed 
her had fastened to her black turban a long veil of pur- 
ple gauze whose filmy folds, twisted lightly about her 
head and neck, threw out the cold pallor of her com- 
plexion with the startling effectiveness of chiseled mar- 
ble. 

How distinctly that sorrowful picture stands out in 
my memory — the white hall, the garish white of noon- 
day streaming in through the uncurtained staircase- 


278 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


window upon Tania's white face in its encircling frame 
of misty purple, the rigid figure of the aged father in 
a soldier’s cap and cape, bearing so tenderly his pitiful 
burden, and in the background, following slowly the 
sobbing Tad 1 

Good-by, Tania, good-by ! " we called softly from 
where we stood grouped near the swing-door. 

She heard us, half opened her heavy eyes, recognized 
us, smiled faintly in response to our greeting, and made 
an effort to answer it by feebly waving the weak hand 
that had fallen from her father’s neck. 

And so smiling, and so answering, Tania passed on 
out of our sight. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE GHOST OF THE INFIRMARY CORRIDOR 

T he pleasant room where Tad and Tania slept 
was not the school infirmary. The real in- 
firmary of the old burgomaster’s time was a 
flight below, in an isolated corridor containing rooms 
that probably once had been guest chambers. 

No door of any of these rooms ever had been seen 
open within memory of a pupil of the Pensionnat Van 
Pelt, and a peep I once had stolen, in company with 
Juliette de Rameau, around the edge of this forbidden 
passageway, revealed, in the fearsome glimmer of a 
shuttered window barred with rusty iron, a long 
stretch of faded green-velvet carpet, walls with 
quaintly figured paper blotched and peeling, and a row 
of closed doors of blackish wood grotesquely carved. 

The tarnished grandeur, the horrible stuffiness, the 
shadowy immovableness of it all, spoke so terrifyingly 
of life long done with, that Juliette and I fled as though 
specters were at our heels, and henceforth shunned 
the old corridor as a place infested. 

This dread was shared by the rest of the school, and 
girls who, at nightfall, made surreptitious use of the 
forbidden front stairway to shorten their passage from 
279 


28 o 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


the main building to the boarding-school wing, scuttled 
past the floor of the infirmary corridor like frightened 
mice. 

On wild nights the wind wailed and moaned up and 
down the place like a requiem of lost souls, the rain 
dripped and gurgled with shuddering suggestiveness, 
and the rattling of the loosened shutter-slats was hor- 
ribly like the clicking of skeleton fingers. 

But because the infirmary corridor was a place where 
we had no right to be, and our detection there would 
have led to lost sorties and other disastrous results, 
these awesome disclosures were circulated between 
ourselves in the most guarded of whispers. 

Then one day, all of a sudden, the formless fears 
that so long had floated about the old corridor took 
tangible shape. 

Girls practising in the cabinet noir, a small music- 
room in the corridor just above, brought agitated re- 
ports of hearing muffled voices and the careful open- 
ing and shutting of doors proceeding from the old in- 
firmary quarters ; and one evening, just at the close of 
an unusually tempestuous day, Celine Bougard, wild- 
eyed and white-lipped, came flying to her companions 
with a terrifying tale of having seen a light. 

I just had finished my etude in the cabinet noir 
and was creeping down the front stairs, thinking to 
arrive at the carre of the salle de professeur without 
being caught by the bouledogue, when, as I reached the 


GHOST OF THE CORRIDOR 281 


floor of the Mrmerie, past which I always run with- 
out looking, a power stronger than myself forced me 
to lift my eyes, and there, from the black vide, where 
no ray from the gas jet of the floor above ever pene- 
trates, at the angle that turns into the corridor of the 
infirmerie, I saw a light. 

Oh, Vhorreur, Vhorreur! Only my prayer to the 
good saint who protects those in terror of death, en- 
abled me to reach the carre of the salle de professeur 
without arousing the house with my shrieks,” the trem- 
bling Celine related with gestures that added a dra- 
matic horror to her recital. 

I myself had seen and heard nothing of these spec- 
tral visitations. I was terrified at the thought of a 
ghost, but could I but glimpse one, what a letter of 
thrills might I not write to Connie Clyde, to be read 
to the girls at Miss Percival’s ! 

Imbued with this idea, the spooky allurements of 
the old infirmary corridor held me in the grip of an 
irresistible fascination. Daytime found me prolific in 
resolutions to invade the domain of the haunts, but 
with the arrival of darkness my courage ignobly fled. 

Once in a daring moment I ventured a tentative peep 
over the railing of the dimly lighted upper floor into 
the blackness of the corridor underneath, and then, 
fearful of what that blackness might reveal, I fled 
back affrighted to the boarding-school by the safe and 
unhaunted way of the little girls' dormitory. 


282 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Like most opportunities, however, mine came when 
least expected. That very night, just before late 
study-hour, Laurice and I, returning together from the 
bureau of madame la directrice, found ourselves stand- 
ing at the foot of the broad stairway leading to the 
upper floors of the burgomaster’s house. The big 
square entrance-hall, upon whose marble floor we 
stood, was well lighted. The presence of Laurice gave 
me courage. 

Let’s have a peep at the ghost,” I whispered. 

“ This way is forbidden. Madame Van Pelt will 
be very angry,” Laurice replied. 

“ I will explain that I am in need of a ghost for the 
letter I am writing home,” I urged. 

Already my foot was upon the stair, and, impelled 
by my will, or perhaps by the desire not to let me go 
alone, Laurice moved to my side. Together we 
quickly mounted the broad and easy flight to the floor 
above. In the semi-obscurity, the pale walls and tall, 
white salon-doors looked spectrally unfamiliar. The 
gas jet on the far-away top floor had been lowered by 
a careful hand to a flickering tip of purple. The piano 
in the cabinet noir was silent. Not a sound reached 
us from anywhere. The large, naked window on the 
landing that faced us threw no light. I felt my cour- 
age dribbling and was seized with a craven desire to 
flee back to the security of the ground floor. But the 
silent corridor above, the somber glint of whose 


GHOST OF THE CORRIDOR 283 

smooth railing and polished balustrades I could just 
discern as shadowy outlines against a background of 
gloom, drew me with uncanny force. 

‘‘ Dare we go farther ? I murmured uneasily. 

As though under the same spell that lured me on, 
Laurice gave me her hand. Step by step, slowly, 
noiselessly, apprehensively, we climbed into the ob- 
scurity of the stairway looming with sinister invita- 
tion before us. We crossed the landing, turned, and 
climbed again, in shrinking yet fascinated terror of 
what that pregnant darkness might give birth. Near 
the top we halted, and, clinging fearfully together, 
stood with backs pressed close against the wall. 

Before us reached a stretch of solid black. Beyond 
was blackness deeper yet, leading to the turn where 
Celine had seen the light. In fancy I could see the 
great eyes of Laurice peering strained into that black- 
ness where the angle turned. I could see my own, 
gray, dark- fringed, terror-dilated. What horror 
awaited us? Was ever darkness so impenetrable? 
Was ever stillness so profound? 

Before my vision rose the picture of that old infirm- 
ary corridor beyond the turn. I saw it all with shud- 
dering clearness — the long- faded carpet, the age- 
spotted walls, the shuttered window barred with rusty 
iron, the closed doors, one of which even now, per- 
haps, some ghostly hand was pressing to come forth. 

Heaven save us! What was that horrible slow- 


284 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


wreathing glow penetrating itself into the blackness of 
the turn with the ghastly insinuosity of a graveyard 
mist? 

Terror-numbed, Laurice and I remained flattened 
against the clammy wall. The glow was deepening, 
spreading. The light was moving! It was creeping 
our way, pushing the darkness before it as though with 
an invisible hand. Already angle and passageway 
were bathed in its sinister glare. A shadow, mon- 
strous, grotesque, danced before us. Behind it the 
specter came — a figure tall, gaunt, white-clad, with 
wide, unseeing eyes, and about its head and shoulders 
a vaporous aureole of floating hair. One ghostly 
hand was pressed against its hollow bosom. The 
other held a lighted candle. 

Feet clogged by terror, breath coming in panting 
gasps, Laurice and I fled from the slow-advancing ap- 
parition down those endless flights of endless stairs. 
Our feet struck the marble pavement of the ground- 
floor with the nightmarish thud of a horrible dream, 
and tottering from the shock we burst into the bureau 
of madame la direct rice. 

In a tremulous blur I saw her startled face lifted 
from the table at which she sat writing, as Laurice 
and I stammered out an incoherent tale of a ghost 
walking with a lighted candle in the old infirmary 
corridor. 

I had a shocked consciousness of Madame Van 


GHOST OF THE CORRIDOR 285 

Pelt's face turning to a deathly pallor, of hearing her 
ejaculations of terrified alarm, as, with a sharp com- 
mand to Laurice and me to remain where we were, she 
hurried away. 

She returned after several minutes. She was not 
angry as we had expected her to be, but very grave 
and in some way pitifully sad. I recall the sadness 
most, as she softly closed the door and came slowly 
toward where Laurice and I sat in a huddled heap 
upon the sofa. 

‘‘ What were you doing in the infirmary corridor ? 
Why, mes enfants, did you disobey? " she asked with 
a gentle reproach that hurt us far more than her 
righteous anger would have done. 

I wanted to see the ghost. I wanted to write 
about it to my friends in America," I shamedly ex- 
plained. 

“ Listen, my children," Madame Van Pelt said with 
sudden decision. “ It is right that I should tell you 
this. There is no ghost. That which has so terrified 
you is my poor old invalid mother. The devoted nurse 
who these many weeks has cared for her, died a few 
weeks since. My mother was alone. She is very old 
— approaching her eightieth year. I am her only liv- 
ing girl. I could not bear to place her among stran- 
gers. I thought to keep her with me. But I see it is 
impossible — impossible! Ah, ma pauvre mkre! 

The sudden change of environment," Madame 


286 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Van Pelt brokenly continued, “ coupled with the loss 
of her faithful Annette, has preyed upon my poor 
mother’s mind and made her extremely restless. This 
condition occasionally causes her to walk in her sleep. 
She was walking in her sleep when you saw her this 
evening, probably searching for me. But she would 
harm no one. She is gentle as a lamb. Pauvre 
mere! 

'' My hope,” madame sorrowfully concluded, was 
to keep my mother undisturbed in the seclusion of the 
old infirmary quarters until she had recovered, to some 
degree, her equilibrium. Results have shown me that 
I was wrong. I had not counted upon the flagrant 
disobedience of my pupils,” she added with a wan little 
smile. 

‘‘ Do not feel so badly, my poor children,” she said 
with gentle sympathy to Laurice and me, who, during 
this pitiful recital, had been crying bitterly. “ Your 
direct infringement of my orders has pained me deeply, 
but you have to-night taught me a lesson. It is not 
wise to make mystery of our ghosts. It is the mys- 
tery that haunts, not the ghost. Open the doors and 
windows of our confidence, let in the beautiful sun- 
shine of trust, and what do we find? A gentle old 
mother, a chere vieille whom no one need fear, so 
close is she to the bon Dieu, 

Go now to your beds, my children,” madame la 
directrice said in conclusion. “ Say nothing to your 


GHOST OF THE CORRIDOR 287 


compagnes about what has happened. The ghost will 
trouble mes eleves no more. Bonne nuit, mes enfants, 
bonne nuit!^^ 

We were very silent, Laurice and I, as we slowly 
walked up-stairs to the dortoir des Anglaises, but no 
sooner had we closed the door upon the quiet place — 
for the others had not yet come — than Laurice 
turned to me with an impetuous : “ Cherie, I think I 

have done wrong to hide my ghost so long from you. 
I am going to open the doors and windows of my con- 
fidence. I am going to let in the beautiful sunshine 
of trust. I am going to tell you all — all!’’ 

“ You are going to let me be the sunshine to chase 
away your ugly ghost* — oh, Laurice ! ” I cried out 
of the fullness of my happy heart. 

“You shall be my friend, my true friend!” Lau- 
rice returned with smiling firmness. 

“ When ? ” was my eager question. 

“ Soon, or the ghosts may close the door so tight 
that we cannot perhaps open it,” Laurice replied. 

“You’ll never get a chance to tell me! Claire de 
Miron ” — I began, to be interrupted by Laurice with 
a quiet : “ We shall have our chance, Cherie. I am 

not going to the carnival ball.” 

“ Not coming to our carnival fete — oh, Laurice I ” 
was my dismayed exclamation. 

Then I remembered that she would take no part, that 
the girls were angry with her, that perhaps she would 


288 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


be better away. And I trailed off into a hopeless: 

But Madame Van Pelt will never let you stay away 
from the carnival fete ! 

‘‘ Madame Van Pelt will understand/’ Laurice 
smiled in a queer little way. ‘‘ She will let me slip 
off to bed, and then perhaps when the great play is 
over and the girls are in the midst of their carnival 
frolics, you will find a little moment to come to me to 
help me get rid of my ghost. 

“ You won’t forget ! ” she added with a roguish lit- 
tle twist of a smile, as hearing the girls on the stairs 
she hurried away. 

“Forget!” I called after her, with to myself a 
chuckling, “ And Claire de Miron will have to look 
pretty sharp this time to outwit me 1 ” 


CHAPTER XXII 


LAURICE CONFIDES 

T he fete of the carnival! Racine’s great play 
of “ Esther was a brilliant success. The 
Britishers’ glittering tableau of the “ Sleeping 
Beauty ” was far from being the failure they feared, 
and after ices had been served and the guests were gone, 
then began the real carnival fun — confetti-throwing. 

Confetti was only tiny bits of colored paper, no 
more to be feared than so much dust, but in the hands 
of these Belgian pensionnaires, who threw it by the 
fistful in one another’s faces and scattered it broad- 
cast like seeds in a whirlwind, the frivolity became im- 
bued with the maddest, merriest spirit of rollicking, 
frolicking carnival time. 

Even the prim and proper English caught the in- 
fection of confetti-throwing, and, like the Belgians, 
flung the gay stuff about in clouds, until with every 
movement it rained from our clothes in streams, and 
filled eyes, mouth, and hair; and, as with each mo- 
ment the fun waxed fast and furious, from light 
showers it became a pelting storm, and we could neither 
see for it, talk for it, nor walk for it, but struggled to- 


290 SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

gather in a tangle of laughter and bewildering serpen- 
tine chains. 

Then it was that I seized the chance for which I 
long had been watching, and slipping out from the 
crowd of shrieking merry-makers, with my long, 
court-lady train of spangled tarlatan swishing softly 
behind me, I sped up the deserted stairways, through 
the twisting passages, past the sepulchral corridor 
called haunted, to the silent dortoir of Laurice. 

I turned the door-knob softly and tiptoed cautiously 
down the length of the dimly lighted place, half fear- 
ful of finding my friend asleep and so a second time 
losing the promised confidence. But she was wide- 
awake and anxiously expecting me. 

“ Oh, I knew you would come if you could,’ ^ she re- 
plied in answer to my eager inquiry. “ But many 
things might have happened to prevent. 

“ Cherie, Fm afraid Fm going to shock you very 
much,” were Laurice’s grave opening words after I 
had comfortably settled myself down beside her. 
“ But I have to tell you something. It concerns 
Rosalie. I hate to tell it. It seems like betrayal. 
Yet I can tell you nothing if I do not tell all. Rosalie 
is not my sister!^* 

“ Rosalie not your sister ! ” I gasped. 

Never in my wildest dreaming had I suspected this. 

“ But your name is the same! You both are called 
de Crevier ! ” was my bewildered observation. 


LAURICE CONFIDES 


291 


‘‘ The explication is simple,” Laurice returned. 

Rosalie's father was Jean Laurent, Vavocat. I am 
the daughter of the Count Paul de Crevier. When 
my mother married I’avocat Jean Laurent, for my sake 
she called herself Laurent-de Crevier. La petite mere 
died. Jean Laurent soon followed. Rosalie then 
dropped the name of Laurent and called herself sim- 
ply de Crevier. She said it saved confusing explana- 
tions. I think Rosalie de Crevier a very pretty name, 
don’t you ? ” 

Laurent suits her better. I am glad, Laurice, that 
she has no right to your beautiful name,” was my 
ungracious reply. 

“ My father was an officer in the French army,” 
Laurice went on. ‘‘ He was poor, and, oh, so hand- 
some, so brave, so distinguished ! I do not wonder la 
petite mere risked poverty to marry him. 

My mother also was of famille noble, and she too, 
helas, was poor,” Laurice softly proceeded under spell 
of tender recollections. “ When my father met her 
she was companion to a lady — a distant relation, who 
loved her dearly and from whose chateau she was 
married. 

Ah, my poor father ! ” Laurice threw her hands 
to her face with a shuddering sigh. ** Six months 
later he was killed — an accident — a fall from his 
hunting-horse. A terrible tragedy! La petite mere 
never would speak of it. 


292 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Eh j hien!'' Laurice made an effort to throw off 
the harrowing recollection. The lady, the distant 
relative to whom my mother had been companion, 
opened her home to her, and there I was born.’’ 

In a castle — oh, Laurice ! ” was my admiring ex- 
clamation. 

“ And there lived until I was six years old,” 
Laurice went on with a flickering smile for my com- 
ment, “when — when maman married Jean Laurent, 
Tavocat. 

“ Papa Laurent was a widower with an only child 
— a daughter of seventeen,” Laurice explained in a 
voice suddenly hardened. “ That daughter was 
Rosalie. Rosalie always was remarkably handsome. 
She ruled everything and everybody, — the house, the 
servants, even her father ; and la petite mere, so fragile, 
so helpless, resigned to her the whole management of 
affairs, including myself. 

“ Mais oui, Rosalie did well her duty by both of us,” 
Laurice freely admitted. “ She nursed la petite mere 
with the greatest solicitude, for natures like Rosalie’s 
often love best those who are dependent upon their 
care, and in return my mother’s confidence in and af- 
fection for her stepdaughter were absolute.” 

“ And you, Laurice ? ” I whispered. 

“ It was far different with me,” Laurice confessed 
with a sigh. “ I was a rebellious, high-spirited, sensi- 


LAURICE CONFIDES 


293 

tive child, and Rosalie had a hard time taming what 
she called my savage nature.” 

“Savage nature — you, Laurice!” I resentfully 
sputtered. 

“ I do not think I was especially agreeable at any 
age,” Laurice said in answer to this little outburst. 
“ I had all a child’s abhorrence of dissimulation, which 
I do not think Rosalie ever forgave. A piece of em- 
broidery that for years she kept in her work-basket to 
be designed before company into a robe for her chere 
petite Nounou, she one day found snipped into rib- 
bons, as an expression of my opinion of her duplicity.” 

“ Served her right ! ” I viciously snapped. 

Laurice laughed at my resentment as she went on to 
say : “ But Rosalie had her good qualities. She was 

careful and conscientious and brought me up, both 
physically and morally, far better than la pauvre petite 
mere could have done, and, though inwardly rebellious, 
I, too, early learned to succumb to her superior will.” 

“ My poor Laurice ! ” I murmured. 

“ La petite mere died when I was twelve years old,” 
Laurice was saying, “ with her last breath commend- 
ing me to the care of her Rosalie adoree and my step- 
father. 

“ I dearly loved my stepfather. Papa Laurent al- 
ways had been kind to me, and when, after the death 
of maman, he retired to the quiet of a country home, 


294 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


it was to devote himself to my education. He was a 
rare scholar, and it is to his patient and thorough 
supervision I owe all that I know to-day.” 

“ That explains the mystery ! ” I exclaimed. ‘‘We 
were always wondering how you happened to know 
more than anybody else.” 

Cher papa Laurent ! ” Laurice cried, her eyes fill- 
ing with tears. “ He was so kind and gentle and lov- 
ing. I always see him — after the stroke that con- 
fined him to his chair — lying back with closed eyes 
among the cushions and so patiently listening and cor- 
recting while I read or recited to him. 

“ Three years ago papa Laurent died, and from that 
hour, Cherie, I have never known a home. Before 
his death he called Rosalie and me to him and said 
in his tender way : ‘ I look upon you two as sisters 

and have provided for you both alike. When I am 
gone you will share this little home between you. I 
have secured income sufficient for you to live upon 
in comfort so long as you remain together.’ 

“ I was deeply attached to our pretty home and 
should have been content to have remained in it for- 
ever,” Laurice sighed. “ But no sooner was our pe- 
riod of mourning over than Rosalie announced her 
intention of selling everything and going to Paris to 
live.” 

“ Cruel ! Heartless ! Wicked ! ” I began to con- 
demn, indignantly. 


LAURICE CONFIDES 


295 


I was heartbroken at the prospect,” Laurice said, 

but I could not, even had I the courage, oppose my 
sister’s plan.” 

“ Why not, Fd like to know ? ” I flared. 

I remembered that Rosalie had been devoted to la 
petite mere, that she was still young and very beau- 
tiful, and it seemed that she had the right to see some- 
thing of the gay world she loved so well,” Laurice 
explained. 

‘‘ So the house, the furniture, even the books that 
papa Laurent had cherished, all passed into the hands 
of strangers. Then for Rosalie and me began an 
existence of flitting from seaside to mountain, from 
hotel to fashionable pension.” 

** Disgraceful,” I muttered, to drag you about like 
that ! ” 

“ Oh, how I sickened of it all, — the emptiness, the 
aimlessness of it all ! ” Laurice wailed. “ How I 
longed for the dear home we had sacrificed! But 
Rosalie was happy, and what could I do? Perhaps 
had I been beautiful and admired as she was, I might 
have cared for these things too. But I knew I was 
une hide — yes, yes ! ” she silenced my protesting in- 
terruption, while she continued: 

I felt in the way, so when Rosalie went out into 
the gay world, I stayed in our rooms alone and read 
and studied and dreamed, only too glad if, by sewing 
for her and waiting upon her, I could make up to her 


296 SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

in the slightest degree the care she once had given 
me. 

“Now I know why Rosalie wouldn’t let you come 
to school when you wanted to! She needed you to 
wait on her ! Mean thing ! ” I sputtered with a spite- 
fulness that I never dreamed was in me. 

Laurice laid her hand on mine with a gentle pres- 
sure, as though to curb my wrath, while she went on 
with her story: 

“ Last year more than half of our little fortune 
was swept away, and then our troubles came thick 
and fast as they could fly. 

“ ‘ There is not enough for two,’ Rosalie was con- 
stantly saying with a bitterness that I was quick to 
understand, for she let me feel often enough that I 
was the thief who was robbing her of her portion, 
and I knew I had not the right to a single penny of 
her father’s money, so it became plain to me that my 
duty was to use the education my stepfather had given 
me by taking a position as governess and supporting 
at least myself.” 

“ You, Laurice, a governess like Miss Leigh, 
Mademoiselle Malaise, poor old browbeaten Zipp 1 ” 
I exclaimed aghast. 

“ Rosalie agreed with my plan,” Laurice went on 
quietly. “ ‘ Pere never instructed me as he did you,’ 
she said with truth, for when she was a young girl 
her father was a busy man and little inclined to sacri- 


LAURICE CONFIDES 


297 

fice valuable time to a daughter who showed no in- 
clination for serious study. 

“To be a governess, however,’' Laurice explained, 
“ I lacked one requisite. I had no accomplishments, 
for papa Laurent had an old-fashioned prejudice 
against what he called frivolous smatterings. So to 
repair the deficiency it was decided that I should have 
one year in a high-class pensionnat. And that is 
why I am here. 

“ So now, Cherie, I have told you all ! ” Laurice 
concluded with a sigh of relief. “ You know at last 
what I am, and that I am destined all my life to be 
only a poor, plodding governess. Do you still want 
me for your friend?” 

“ More than ever ! ” I warmly assured her. “ What 
is a friend for but to stand by one through trouble ? ” 

“ Ah, Cherie I ” Laurice exclaimed, deeply moved 
by my protestation. “ You are the sunshine that 
has chased away all my ghosts ! Your sympathy and 
affection run through the dull gray of my life just 
as the line of gold runs through the gray of the old 
cathedral of Ste. Gudule. Le hon Dieu has been good 
to me to give me such a friend.” 

“ But I am not satisfied yet, Laurice,” I said after 
a moment. “ Is your sister unkind to you ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! ” Laurice made prompt reply. “ I gladly 
would stay with her, work for her, bear all the bur- 
dens of our poverty, for never can I forget her honte 


298 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


to la petite mere, and my joy in life is to devote my- 
self. I never would leave my sister, Cherie, if only 
she loved me a little and truly wanted me.” 

“ She seems very fond of you,” I observed. 

It is only a seeming,” Laurice returned with a 
queer little smile. “ Rosalie plays the devoted sister 
exactly as though she were on the stage. To me the 
pretense is a mockery that is intolerable.” 

Was it acting, Laurice, that made your sister 
come to see you the day it blew so dreadfully and you 
were so angry ? ” 

** Pure acting,” Laurice replied. ** She came to 
make an impression oi la smir devoiiee, and I knew it, 
and it made me furious. 

‘‘ That smile, that smile ! ” Laurice wearily sighed. 

Oh, Cherie, nothing in this world looks so terrible 
to me as does Rosalie Laurent with that smooth smile 
the world perpetually sees on her pale face.” 

“ Pale face ! ” I exclaimed, surprised. Why, 
Laurice, your sister’s face is rosy as a pink azalea ! ” 
Oh, no ! Oh, no ! ” Laurice cried out in quick 
denial, then checked herself with an embarrassing 
shortness. 

‘‘You — mean — she — paints ? ” I gasped in a 
horrified whisper. 

“ Yes,” Laurice just breathed in reply, with her 
face turned away, as though ashamed to meet my eyes, 
while I hurriedly changed the embarrassing topic by 


LAURICE CONFIDES 


299 


saying, But your sister brings you the most beauti- 
ful flowers, Laurice, in midwinter, when flowers are 
most expensive/’ 

“ Flowers ! ” Laurice scoffed. ‘‘ The cheapest 
things she could bring. Rosalie has admirers who 
keep her room filled. 

‘‘ Does she ever bring me bonbons or fruits or pates 
to distribute among the girls ? ” she asked with a bit- 
terness that showed how deeply she felt this wrong. 
“ Sortie after sortie has she not let me come back to 
school empty-handed, knowing well what a cruel hu- 
miliation that was to me ! Often you have reproached 
me, Cherie, for not being more intime with the girls. 
How could I be, when friendship with them meant 
taking where I could not give? 

“ But I must be shocking you dreadfully,” Laurice 
said with a sudden throwing-off of her agitated man- 
ner. “ I forget that you know nothing of such things 
and cannot understand how I feel.” 

“ You haven’t yet told me, Laurice,” I reminded 
her, “ why you were crying that day in the little cab- 
inet de musique near the ‘ Trou.’ ” 

“ Something very ridiculous. I’m afraid you will 
think,” Laurice confessed. ‘‘ I wanted, oh, so much, 
to take the part of Esther, but Rosalie scolded so fu- 
riously about the extravagance of getting me a cos- 
tume, and went on so dreadfully about the sacrifice 
she was making to keep me at an expensive school, 


300 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


that I was crushed to the earth. And between that, 
and knowing what the girls were thinking about me 
for refusing the part, I just felt as though I wanted 
to crawl away and die. Then when Rosalie chose 
the carnival time to go away on a visit to Paris, I 
broke down. 

** Not that I minded Rosalie going away,’' Laurice, 
in her implacable honesty, hastened to explain. ‘‘ But 
somehow I felt, all of a sudden, so lonely and helpless 
and neglected, so wretchedly out of everything. 

“ I wish I had known. I wish that you had told 
me,” was all I could find to say as I gently stroked 
her hand. 

“ I could tell you nothing without telling you every- 
thing,” Laurice returned. 

“ As it is,” she added, “ I never could have said as 
much to you as I have, did I not instinctively feel that 
you do not admire Rosalie in the blind way the other 
girls do.” 

“I have thought her selfish and vain,” I reluc- 
tantly admitted. 

“ I have tried to be just to Rosalie,” Laurice 
humbly confessed, “to see with her eyes, to feel as 
she felt. I know that I am prone to violent preju- 
dices. That is why I tried so hard to be fair. 

“ And that is why,” she looked up with a whimsical 
little smile, “ I am always scolding you about Claire 
de Miron.” 


LAURICE CONFIDES 


301 


‘‘Let’s not talk about Claire de Miron,” I im- 
patiently interrupted. “I want to hear more about 
yourself. You haven’t yet told me how you like the 
idea of being a governess.” 

“ I don’t like it at all,” Laurice frankly admitted. 
“ I dread it. I don’t know how I am going to stand 
it. 

“Oh, Cherie!” she moaned, lifting herself from 
the pillows and reaching out yearning arms in the in- 
tensity of her emotion, “I want a home! You do 
not know how I love a home! I want a home, with 
my favorite books about me, and pictures and flowers, 
and a round center-table with a lamp to be lighted 
when the curtains are drawn, and those I love beside 
me ! That is my dream ! That is the home I want ! ” 

“ Come to America and live in my home with me, 
Laurice,” I murmured. 

“ I could not eat the bread of idleness. I must 
work for my living,” Laurice sighed with a sorrowful 
shake of the head. 

A cautious creaking of the dortoir door and a sound 
of light footsteps tripping our way abruptly closed 
the conversation, and, as we both listened with ears 
strained for some clue to the intruder, a white hand 
parted the curtain before us, and into the chambrette 
peeped Claire de Miron’s roguishly smiling face. 

“ Ah, te voila! ” she merrily piped at sight of me. 
“ I knew, of course, you must be here, but I couldn’t 


302 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


get away sooner. Maman has only this moment 
left. 

“ I have brought you something good/’ she tinkled 
on in her silvery singsong, coming into the chambrette 
and holding toward Laurice a pretty glass cup filled 
with the glowing deliciousness of a raspberry ice 
capped with the golden richness of a plump macaroon. 

“ You had better come back to the salon with me 
if you want des glaces for yourself,” she turned to me 
with sweet insinuation. ‘‘ Everything must be nearly 
gone by this time. Besides, it wants but a few min- 
utes of twelve.” 

As Claire spoke we heard the muffled strokes of the 
old staircase clock overhead, and, without stopping 
for further talk, the two of us sped away, reaching 
the grand salon just as the great bell of a neighboring 
church boomed the solemn hour of midnight. 

And at the first stroke every sound of revelry ceased, 
and, sobered and subdued, gay knights and frivolous 
ladies, kings and court jesters, monks and fairies, the 
grave players of '' Esther ” and the merry ones of the 
'' Sleeping Beauty,” dropped on their knees, and, with 
heads reverently bowed and hearts uplifted in prayer, 
greeted Ash Wednesday. 



‘‘An, TE VOILA! ” — SHE MERRILY PIPED AT SIGHT OF ME.— 301 







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CHAPTER XXIII 


THE GODMOTHER 

L ent was long and dreary. Tania's sickness 
and sorrowful departure had sobered the spirits 
of the most frivolous among us, and three days 
after the carnival fete Miss Leigh returned with the 
pitiful news that Tania had died the day after arriv- 
ing in Paris. 

‘‘ A short time before she died," Miss Leigh called 
Tad and me apart to tell us, “ she asked to be lifted 
to the sofa, and just before her father laid her down, 
before she had taken her arms from his neck, she 
whispered, ' Papa, I want Tad to have my silver neck- 
lace.' " 

The necklace was an exquisite thing of forget-me- 
nots, leaves, and blossoms, the finest filigree silver, 
fastened to a band of black velvet. It was a gift to 
Tania from her parents a few months before, on her 
sixteenth birthday, and, as Tad lifted it from its case, 
before me rose a vision of Tania as I saw her that 
day standing straight and strong, proud as a little 
queen, with the beautiful necklace on its velvet band 
fastened about her slim white throat. 


303 


304 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Tad saw the vision too, and with a pitiful cry of 

Tania I ** she fell to sobbing over and kissing this 
pathetic reminder of her dead friend in so heart-rend- 
ing a way that I could not see for the tears that 
streamed from my own eyes, and Miss Leigh buried 
her face in her scarlet shawl. 

In a few days the girls talked no more of Tania. 
They ceased to miss her from desk and table. Other 
interests filled her place. Her name became only a 
sad memory, and things went on as though from 
among them one had not been suddenly snatched away 
out of the fullness of life into the silence of death. 

Only Tad was never again quite the same. She be- 
came sober and industrious, and was promoted into 
the Second Class, where she formed a close comrade- 
ship with Marie Pons, the mathematician of the school. 
And, change most curious of all, Tad never wrote any 
more funny poetry. 

Affairs with Laurice, meanwhile, were progressing. 
We were well into Lent, and I was practising one 
morning in what we called the cabinet noir, because it 
was a dark inside room, when Laurice slipped from 
her practice to put into my hand a letter with the 
whispered injunction, ‘‘ Read it when you are alone.^’ 

The letter was from Rosalie, and this is what it 
said: 

** Nounou mignonne: [Rosalie, like Claire de Miron, 
was always gushingly affectionate.] I am to marry 


THE GODMOTHER 


305 


the Baron de Story. This will be no surprise to you, 
as you have known of his devotion to me ever since 
our arrival in Brussels. You know also that the 
baron is a man of wealth and influence, and that I 
shall in future occupy a position which I am sure you 
will admit is but my just reward after the long years 
of sacrifice in service to others. My Gaston aime and 
I expect to be married some time during the coming 
summer, and after an extended tour we shall return to 
Belgium to take up our permanent residence on one of 
the baron’s numerous family estates. During our ab- 
sence you will remain at school. 

And now, my Nounou cherie, this brings me to my 
special reason for writing to you. You know I have 
always done my duty by you and looked upon you ex- 
actly as though you were my own sister, but still the 
fact remains that you are not, and while I do not 
grudge a home to one whom le bon papa held in so 
great an affection, I feel it a duty to remind you that 
you have a godmother upon whom you have a strong 
claim, and I insist that you write to her without delay 
and acquaint her with the situation. 

A toi, comme tou jours, ta soeur, 

'' Rosalie.” 

I thought this a horrid letter, so cold and selfish, 
but at least Rosalie’s marriage would put an end to 
Laurice’s miserable prospects as a governess. 

Oh, I am so glad ! What lovely news ! ” I ex- 
claimed, as I pounced upon Laurice after practice 
hour and dragged her for a little talk into the dortoir 
des Beiges, which, by good fortune, happened to be 
open. 


3o6 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Of what are you so glad?” Laurice asked with a 
curious little smile, as she received the letter I re- 
turned to her. 

‘‘ That you don’t have to go out as a governess and 
are going to have a home after all,” I answered. 

“ Do you think I would accept such a home as 
that?” Laurice scoffed with a glance of unutterable 
contempt toward the letter she held. 

. “ Ah, Cherie ! ” she made moan, turning to me 
with a heart-breaking little smile, “ you do not know 
my sister Rosalie if you think I could live with her 
after her marriage. If she is intolerable before, what 
do you suppose she will be when she is rich and pow- 
erful? She would lead me a life of unbearable tyr- 
anny. 

** And, more,” — Laurice’s voice became suddenly 
hard, — “ I do not like the Baron de Story.” 

“ What is he like ? ” I asked. 

“ You have seen him,” Laurice replied. 

“ I have seen him ! ” I exclaimed surprised. 

“ Yes. He was the man you saw talking to me 
that day in the restaurant,” Laurice spoke with quick 
impatience, as though anxious to be rid of a distaste- 
ful topic. 

“ But, Laurice,” I expostulated, ‘‘ that man talked 
to you. He seemed to like you — not Rosalie.” 

“ Perhaps — at first,” Laurice unwillingly admitted. 
“ Rosalie herself wasn’t sure. It was for that she 


THE GODMOTHER 


307 


kept me out of school. That was the real reason, 
Cherie. I didn’t like to tell you. I was ashamed. 
Rosalie bought me new clothes — gaudy things that I 
hated — and insisted upon me making myself agree- 
able to the Baron de Story. I despised him. He was 
coarse and familiar. And then one day I rebelled.'* 
** Oh, Laurice ! ” I cried out in my gladness. 

‘‘ It was the day I met you," Laurice went on more 
gently, ‘‘ the day I was carrying the bunch of syringa. 
You remember? Something about you, Cherie," 
Laurice softly continued, ‘‘ perhaps the pity, the sym- 
pathy I saw in your face, filled me with courage, and 
I went home and told Rosalie that if she did not im- 
mediately let me come here to school, I would offend 
the Baron de Story so that he would never again come 
back. 

“ And even were this not so," Laurice’s voice trailed 
on in the hoarse monotone of deep feeling strongly 
suppressed, the manner in which Rosalie has offered 
me a home makes acceptance impossible. Do you not 
see that in every line she taunts me with my depend- 
ence? Is it not plain that she does not want me? Is 
not her demand that I write to my godmother only in 
hopes that she may be rid of me without drawing dis- 
paraging comment upon herself ? " 

“ You never told me of a godmother, Laurice. 
Who is she? " was my eager question. 

“ Godmother is the lady with whom my mother 


3o8 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


lived as companion before her marriage/’ Laurice an- 
swered, rather stiffly, I thought. 

Godmothers in these foreign lands were personages 
of the highest importance and responsibility, whose 
position in the families with whom they were con- 
nected by ties of religion, was as strong as any tie 
of blood. 

A foreign girl was brought up to look upon the 
claims of her church mother upon her as second only 
to that of her real mother. La marraine provides 
dots, leaves legacies, and shares with the parents 
the welfare and interests of her godchild. 

That Laurice had any one belonging to her as near 
and dear as a godmother was to me a delightful and 
astonishing piece of news. 

“ You will write to her, of course,” I promptly sug- 
gested. 

‘‘To write to my godmother is an impossibility,” 
Laurice replied with strong emphasis. 

“ Why not ? ” I asked. 

“ You shall know why,” Laurice replied with a sort 
of grim satisfaction. “ It is quite a little story and 
will take some minutes to tell. However, as it is only 
a dictee in the grande classe our absence probably 
won’t be noticed.” 

We decided to take risks, and, snugly hidden be- 
hind the closely drawn curtains of a corner cham- 
brette, Laurice told me about her godmother. 


THE GODMOTHER 


309 


“ You remember me telling you/’ she said, “ that 
I lived until six years old in the chateau where I was 
born? That was godmother’s home. Marraine, who 
was widowed and childless, took entire charge of me 
from the hour of my birth, and if she loved my mother 
she idolized me. 

“ She bitterly opposed my mother’s marriage to 
Monsieur Laurent, not only because it robbed her of 
me, but because Monsieur Laurent belonged to the 
bourgeoisie, into which my haughty old marraine 
thought no aristocrat should ever pass. My little 
mother, however, had her way. She married Mon- 
sieur Laurent and went to live in another part of 
Paris. I, of course, went with her, but I spent nearly 
as much time with my godmother as I did before, 
often remaining with her weeks without seeing my 
mother. In fact, where godmother was, was more 
home to me than with my real mother. You can un- 
derstand my feeling, can you not? 

“ As I told you,” Laurice proceeded with her pain- 
ful topic, “ my little mother died. Godmother in her 
preemptory way immediately demanded that I should 
be handed over to her for good and all. I loved mar- 
raine, but there was my poor stepfather to think of. 
Papa Laurent now was old and feeble and clung pa- 
thetically to me for comfort and companionship. It 
would have been cruel to leave him, and even god- 
mother saw the justice of this, for if she had never 


310 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


become reconciled to my stepfather’s plebeian name, 
she did respect his honorable character. 

So we left Paris and went to live some miles out 
in the country, in a different province, and after that 
I hadn’t so much to do with marraine. Rosalie 
strongly opposed trips to Paris on the ground that 
they were useless extravagance,” — “ Horrid thing ! ” 
I interposed, — and that I learned no good from being 
with godmother. Godmother and Rosalie despised 
each other. Godmother called Rosalie a vain, deceit- 
ful minx, and said her method of bringing me up was 
barbare. And Rosalie called godmother an interfer- 
ing old woman, and declared that I owed it to her 
that I was so spoiled and unmanageable.” 

“Not much danger of Rosalie spoiling you!” I 
ungraciously observed. 

“ I’ve no doubt I was spoiled,” Laurice admitted, 
“ for marraine never scolded or opposed me, but 
petted me ridiculously and let me wheedle her into 
having my own way in everything. But she loved 
me better than anything else on earth, and when my 
stepfather died she wrote to me to come to her to 
be the daughter of the house. 

“ H am an old woman now,’ she wrote, ‘ and I 
need you.’ ” 

“ You should have gone to her, Laurice, right 
away,” I impetuously observed. 

“ I would have gone to her, Cherie, but for 


THE GODMOTHER 


311 

Rosalie,” Laurice explained in reply. ** Whether be- 
cause my sister found me too useful to her or be- 
cause she wanted to spite godmother, I did not then 
know, but there was a dreadful scene when I pro- 
posed leaving her to go to godmother, even though I 
offered to resign to Rosalie the whole of the portion 
left to me by my stepfather.” 

“ The idea of you giving back everything to that 
horrid Rosalie ! ” I indignantly sputtered. 

‘ You ought to be ashamed to think of leaving 
me ! ' Rosalie screamed in a fury,” Laurice continued 
with her recital. ‘‘ ‘ Is this how you repay me for my 
devotion to you, by deserting me now when I am 
alone! Oh, it is basest ingratitude! And from you 
— you — YOU! YOU whom I have loved as my 
own flesh and blood ! ’ ” 

Actress ! ” I scoffed. 

‘‘ Then Rosalie,” Laurice went on in a voice tensely 
quivering, “ did what I had never in my life before 
seen her do. She burst into tears. The sight of her 
emotion touched me profoundly, and for once I sin- 
cerely believed in her.” 

Fraud ! ” I growled — “ mean, wicked fraud ! ” 

** I struggled fiercely between my inclinations and my 
sense of right,” Laurice said, ‘‘ but Rosalie claimed 
my duty and I decided that the thing hardest to do 
was the right thing to do. I stayed with Rosalie.” 

“ Hateful old hypocrite! ” I muttered in a rage. 


312 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


‘‘ Godmother never forgave me/’ Laurice sadly pro- 
ceeded. ** She was a passionate woman when roused, 
and the letter she sent in answer to mine telling of 
Rosalie’s plans and my decision, said things about 
Rosalie that made me ashamed to have her read them. 
But this had to be, for no letters came to me that 
my despotic stepsister did not claim the right to first 
open, and to conceal them from her was something 
my sense of honor forbade.” 

She ought to have been put into jail for opening 
other people’s letters ! ” I remarked with a fierceness 
that caused Laurice to stop to pat my hand with an 
amused little smile before continuing: 

Every word of that cruel letter is burned into my 
brain. 

‘ Rosalie Laurent ’ — godmother never would call 
my stepsister ‘ de Crevier ’ — ‘ is a fraud,’ godmother 
wrote, ‘ a selfish, heartless, calculating fraud, and 
she is using you to serve some purpose of her own. 
Go with her then, since you have so chosen. Go into 
that gay world with which she has tempted you. 
Seek your happiness when and how you will, but 
never in this world let me see you or hear from you 
again. You have forfeited all claim to my affection.’ ” 
‘‘Cruel! Cruel!” I cried. “How could your 
godmother have been so unjust ! ” 

“ Oh, the bitter tears that I wept over that letter! ” 
Laurice wailed. “ But it did not swerve me from my 


THE GODMOTHER 


313 


purpose, for, little as I cared for Rosalie, I thought 
godmother had been as unfair to her as she had been 
to me. Then I felt sure I was doing right. 

“ But, oh, Cherie ! ” Laurice flung out despairing 
hands, "'the day was not far distant when I discov- 
ered that my old marraine was wiser than I knew. 
Rosalie was making use of me, for I was the excuse 
that took her to Paris. I was the young sister whom 
she must introduce into the social whirl of that gay 
town. I was the growing girl who needed the sea- 
bathing and the mountain aif. I was the object about 
which she made the world believe she centered her 
dearest hopes and deepest affection — I who stayed 
at home and darned her stockings and wore her old 
clothes that she might enjoy life as a queen! What 
need, Cherie, for me to tell you more of this miser- 
able farce? You know it all.” 

" Write to your godmother, Laurice,” I entreated. 

She is good and she loves you. Something tells me 
she will forgive you if you will only write.” 

Laurice shook her head in firm denial. 

" I cannot write,” she replied. I am too proud 
after the way I have treated her. Ma pauvre mar- 
raine!** 

" There is nothing then for you but to become a 
governess?” I sorrowfully asked. 

Nothing else,” Laurice returned quite simply. 

Here the jingling of Old Prowler’s keys warned 


314 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


us of danger approaching, and a lively time Laurice 
and I had for a couple of minutes, dodging around 
the long center toilet-table and sidling in and out of 
chambrettes, before we were safely out of sound of 
those jangling keys. 

‘‘ Rosalie is furious,” Laurice informed me when 
she came back from salon the following Thursd^iy 
afternoon. 

About what?” I wanted to know. 

About my refusal to write to godmother,” Laurice 
answered. 

‘‘ She says,” Laurice sat down to tell me, ‘‘ that I 
cannot in justice claim a- home from her when I have 
a rich godmother. And when I told her that I had 
no intention of claiming a home from anybody, but 
proposed to earn my own living as a governess, she 
declared that never would she permit such a thing, be- 
cause people would talk dreadfully if they knew she 
had a sister, at least one who called her sister, who 
worked for a living while she reveled in luxury. 

“ I reminded her that I saw no reason why my 
plans for being a governess should change on account 
of her marriage. 

** * There is every reason why that arrangement 
should no longer be considered ! ’ Rosalie retorted in 
a fury. ‘The sister of the Baroness de Story is an 
entirely different proposition from the sister of Rosalie 
Laurent. Suppose you should be employed in the 


THE GODMOTHER 


315 


family of one of my friends, or the friends of my 
Gaston bien-aime! Do you not see that the situation 
would be impossible for both of us? Are you alto- 
gether devoid of reason? ’ 

“A pretty pair — Rosalie and her Gaston bien- 
aime! Pah!” was my withering reflection. 

“ Rosalie,” Laurice spoke languidly, as though over- 
strained with the subject, “ was maddening in her 
insistency that I had no right to bring disgrace upon 
her and her Gaston, and demanded that I write im- 
mediately to godmother to tell her this. But for once 
I dared show myself as strong-willed as my step- 
sister. 

“ H will never, never, never, under any circum- 
stances write to marraine ! ’ I repeated and repeated 
with an emphasis that left no doubt in my meaning,” 
were the words with which Laurice concluded her 
stirring recital. 

“ Perhaps your sister will write herself,” I sug- 
gested. 

No fear of that 1 ” Laurice mocked with a hard 
little laugh of repudiation. ” Godmother knows 
Rosalie’s handwriting. Rosalie wrote, when I 
wouldn’t, to tell of the loss of our money when the 
bank failed, and the letter came back unopened in an 
envelope addressed by godmother. Rosalie knows 
better than to risk a second rebuff of that kind.” 

‘‘ What are you going to do about it all ? ” I asked 


3i6 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


in a helpless sort of way, for Laurice’s affairs seemed 
to be getting hopelessly muddled. 

“ Get myself a position,” Laurice replied. 

‘‘But how?” I persisted. “What can you do if 
Rosalie won't help you ? ” 

“ ril find a way,” Laurice returned with quiet as- 


surance. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


I MAKE A BOLD MOVE 


ELICITATIONS , Cherie! ’’ Laurice gayly an- 



r nounced as she ran to meet me on the terrace 
at recess not many days after our godmother 
talk in the dortoir. ‘‘ My little carriere is all ar- 
ranged! I am to go to the Congo as governess! 
And it is to our good directrice that I owe my happy 
fortune. 

‘‘ It is only just this minute that madame la direc- 
trice has told me the great news ! ’’ Laurice' went on 
excitedly to say. “ A lady, whose husband holds a 
high official position in the Congo Free State, has 
written to a friend in Brussels to procure for her a 
governess bien distingueCj bien instruite, for her three 
little girls, and when Madame Van Pelt heard of this 
she immediately bespoke the position for me. Am I 
not fortunate to obtain it, Cherie ? ’’ 

“ But Africa ! That land of savages ! ’’ I exclaimed 
aghast. 

‘‘ Better than a chateau with Rosalie and her Gaston 
bien-aime ! ” Laurice merrily returned. 

But seriously, Cherie,” she gravely added. 


3i8 schoolgirl ALLIES 

Africa is not so bad as you think. The colony to 
which I am going is civilized and life there is doubt- 
less charming.’’ 

'' I don’t care ! ” I defiantly snapped. ‘‘ It’s thou- 
sands of miles away in a strange country, among 
strange people. Your sister never could be so cruel 
as to let you go. She will be horrified at the idea.” 

Rosalie is toute joyeuse” Laurice confided after 
her sister’s visit next day. “ I believe she likes the 
Congo better even than having me go to marraine, be- 
cause in the house of marraine I should be a real 
somebody, and I’m just wicked enough to fancy that 
that would not quite suit Rosalie. But VAfrique, 
three thousand miles and more away! She is beau- 
tifully well rid of me, and who would ever connect 
Laurice de Crevier, the poor French governess, with la 
riche et belle Baronne de Story of Belgium? ” 

‘‘ What do you think of this naughty little sister 
of mine running away to Africa to be a governess? ” 
I heard the beautiful Rosalie coo in her engaging way 
to Madame Van Pelt one afternoon when I happened 
to be in the salon. 

“ But it is well to let les jeunes filles have their way 
sometimes — not so, ma chere madamef ” Rosalie 
musically babbled, embracing our directrice with a 
confidential smile which the simple-hearted lady re- 
turned with a shake of the head, as though saying 
ybuhg girls and their vagaries were no secret to her. 


I MAKE A BOLD MOVE 


319 


You need not feel so dreadfully, Cherie,” Laurice 
said consolingly, when later I expressed to her my 
disapproval of her departure. I shall not go until 
school closes in August, and then you are going to 
return to America, so in any case we must part very 
soon. Let us be as happy as we can during our short 
time together.'' 

But I could not reconcile myself to that horrible 
African plan. The idea of Laurice becoming a gov- 
erness at all was repugnant to me. I had seen enough 
of the lives of governesses, — the loneliness, the drudg- 
ery, the insolence of rude girls, — and to think of 
proud, sensitive Laurice in such a position was pain 
enough to me. 

But Africa was black anguish to my soul. I was 
continually picturing Laurice as pale, sorrowful, suf- 
fering in silence under the tyranny of an arrogant 
mistress and insolent children, without money, with- 
out friends, without a single soul to whom she could 
turn for comfort or protection. 

But it may not be as you imagine, Cherie," 
Laurice would hopefully prompt, adding a cheerful: 
'‘And then I always shall have you to write to and 
receive letters from. What glorious letters we shall 
write each other! How I shall enjoy that corre- 
spondence ! " 

We had stolen away to the burgomaster's garden 
one evening, she and I, and were talking of the Afri- 


320 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


can trip — for we talked of little else these days — 
and Laurice had launched out into a most enthusiastic 
description of her prospects. 

‘‘ Why, ma chere, you are all wrong ! '' she ex- 
claimed in answer to one of my tirades, in which I 
pictured her as a poor, plodding, downtrodden, half- 
starving menial destined to fill a premature grave in 
a foreign land, without one heart to mourn her. 
“ This is the way things are going to be : The grande 
dame who employs me is going to love me as her own 
daughter, or a cherished sister, the children will adore 
me, I shall meet all sorts of wonderful people, and in 
the end, like Rosalie, I shall make a grand marriage — 
perhaps a governor of one of the provinces, or maybe 
a native prince. Then what a great lady I shall be! 
What coals of fire I shall heap on Rosalie’s head when 
I come home! What splendid things I shall do for 
my friends ! ” 

Laurice was hysterically excited. Her cheeks 
glowed, her eyes sparkled strangely, as though she was 
carried out of herself entirely by her wild talk. 

“ Are you really so eager to go ? Do you really 
care so much about that horrible Africa?” I asked, 
my eyes filling with hot tears, for in some way her 
gladness hurt me. 

I love it ! I love it ! ” she exclaimed, waving her 
arms as I had so often imagined her waving the tri- 
color of France and shouting the battle-cry. 


I MAKE A BOLD MOVE 


321 


‘‘ I should think you would not love to go so far 
from your own beautiful country/' I chokingly re- 
proached her. 

‘‘ Care ? Why should I care ? I am too happy to 
care about anything but Africa and liberty ! " she 
shouted wildly. And clapping her hands, she tossed 
back her head in the strangest laugh I had ever heard 
from human lips. 

So loud and long and wild was it that I became 
frightened, and was about to implore her to stop, 
when suddenly it broke into a gasping sob, and, throw- 
ing me one look of piteous appeal, poor Laurice 
dropped her face in her hands and collapsed in an out- 
rush of blinding tears. 

‘‘ You do care ! You do care ! " I exclaimed aghast. 
“ You have been pretending to deceive me. Laurice, 
tell me the truth ! Do you truly want to go ? " 

“ It is breaking my heart," Laurice sobbed in an- 
swer. “I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go!’’ 

“ You shall not go! ” I returned as wildly. “ You 
shall come to America with me to stay in my home as 
my sister. 

“ Come, Laurice ! " I pleaded. “ I have a little for- 
tune all in my own right, left to me by the great-uncle 
for whom I am named. It is a great deal more than 
I can ever use all by myself. Won’t you come home 
with me and let me share it with you?" 

But though Laurice kissed me warmly to show her 


322 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


gratitude, I knew by the way she shook her head that 
I never could persuade her to let me have my way. 

only you would write to your godmother! I 
finally pressed in my desperation. “If you will not 
come home with me, Laurice, at least write to your 
godmother.” 

“ Write to her now because I am poor and in trou- 
ble, after the cruel way I have treated her ! ” Laurice 
turned to flash upon me this bitter exclamation. 
“ Ah, Cherie, do you not see that it is impossible ? ” 

Helpless and hopeless I succumbed to the stronger 
force. But this did not prevent me from lying awake 
nights to think of something that might be done to 
save Laurice from her unhappy fate. 

All that I could do was to write to my mother, tell 
her the whole pitiful story, — as much as I was free 
to tell, — and ask her for money with which to buy 
my friend a parting gift. 

But I was wretched, for the thought of Laurice 
going away to that miserable country against her will, 
never left me night or day and filled me with despair. 

My head teemed with endless plans to prevent her 
going. I would appeal to her sister. I would remon- 
strate with Madame Van Pelt. I would find her a 
position myself in America. But all these plans I in 
turn rejected as wild and impracticable. 

And so the time passed until we were within four- 
teen days of the Easter holidays. 


I MAKE A BOLD MOVE 323 

It was entrancing — the awakening from dull win- 
ter into the fairy beauty of spring. Doors and win- 
dows all over the house were thrown open, the golden 
sunshine poured in, plumy tree-shadows dappled the 
wooden floors, and everywhere was sweet with the 
clean fragrance of horse-chestnuts in riotous bloom. 

We girls, as we sat at our desks in the grande 
classe, full of the soft perfumed breezes that fluttered 
in through the broad casement-windows flung wide, 
gently stirring the leaves of our text-books and caress- 
ingly lifting the hair from our brows, had all we 
could do not to dance and sing for sheer joy of being 
part of this happy world. 

Laurice was putting her desk in order one Satur- 
day evening just about this time, and I was sitting 
beside her, poking into her books and papers, which 
was a little liberty I was fond of taking with her 
things, when between the leaves of a blotter I stum- 
bled across an old-fashioned visiting-card engraved 
with the name “ Marquise de Kinthoent.” Above ^he 
name was a strawberry-leaf coronet and in the lower 
corner was the address of a street in the Faubourg St. 
Germain in Paris. 

''Who is this, Laurice?” I asked, holding up the 
card for her to see. 

" Godmother,” Laurice briefly answered, as she 
threw a quick glance at the name and then quietly 
went on covering her books. 


324 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


I knew that Laurice’s godmother was rich and of 
good family. But a marchioness! This surpassed 
my wildest dreams ! Laurice’s godmother a mar- 
chioness and Laurice going out to the Congo as a gov- 
erness I The thought was preposterous. 

Suddenly, as I sat looking at the bit of cardboard 
in my hand, an inspiration whizzed through my brain. 
Why should I not write to godmother? Why should 
not I tell the pitiful tale Laurice was too proud to tell? 
Who better than I would know how to reach that 
irascible old godmother’s tender heart — for did not 
the very deepness of its hurt prove its tenderness? 

Oh, why had I not thought of this glorious scheme 
sooner? But, thank heaven, there yet was time! 
Letters took many days to travel between Belgium and 
the Congo, and several letters must come and go be- 
fore the final word of decision was sent. Laurice 
was safe until some time in June at least, and we were 
now but in April. 

So taking care that Laurice did not see, for an 
inkling of my plan meant its instant destruction, I 
slipped the precious card in my pocket, and, in a fer- 
ment of eagerness to get the dark deed done, that 
night at bedtime I smuggled up with me pen, ink, 
and paper, for that letter had to be written where no 
profane eye could intrude, no meddlesome hand in- 
terfere. 


I MAKE A BOLD MOVE 


325 


Fortunately for my plan, my bed stood just under 
a high, uncurtained window through which the moon- 
light poured in a brilliant stream, and by its kindly aid, 
while those about soundly slept, the letter was suc- 
cessfully written. 

The letter was a long one, for in it I left nothing 
unsaid that I thought could again bring together 
those two souls separated by a cruel misapprehension. 

I told everything, from the miserable life Laurice 
led in P'aris with her stepsister after the father’s 
death, up to the present moment when that heartless 
sister was about to make a brilliant marriage and 
Laurice was to be sent adrift to shift for herself. 

“ She is going to Africa,” I said, “ to people she 
does not know, and to a climate that will kill her 
surely.” 

And from the depths of my own distress I poured 
out my soul in an impassioned appeal to that god- 
mother to save her unhappy godchild from this cruel 
fate, and take her once more to her heart and home. 

“ She loves you,” I pleaded. She loves you deeply 
and truly, as she has always loved you, but she is too 
proud ever to let you know this because she believes 
you no longer care for her since you have cast her 
off. 

“ She is so intelligent, so instruite/' I told her. 
“ She is first in all her studies. Even the professors 


326 SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

admire her. She is so affectionate and tender-hearted 
— altogether different from anybody I ever knew. 
And her sister Rosalie is so mean to her. She never 
gives her a new dress, or anything, and makes her 
wear all her old things.^’ 

There, I just had to say that, though Laurice would 
be furious if she knew ! 

“ I am her friend,^' I explained, and it is because 
I love her and know the sufferings of her noble heart, 
that I have dared to betray the confidence she has 
given me. 

If Madame Van Pelt, our directrice, should ever 
find out that I had written this letter to you,” I said 
in conclusion, ‘‘ I should be expelled from the school 
and break the heart of my darling mother so far 
away in America. But if you will only forgive 
Laurice and let her be your child again, I shall be 
glad that I have taken every risk.” 

My precious letter safely addressed, stamped, and 
sealed, next came the important question of how to 
mail it. If such a thing as a state’s-prison offense 
should be committed by the demoiselles of the Pen- 
sionnat Van Pelt, that of surreptitiously mailing a let- 
ter was the one. 

No rule of the house was so strict as that pertain- 
ing to the correspondence of the pupils. Parents 
were obliged to put their initials on the outside of 
their envelopes, and all correspondence not endorsed 


I MAKE A BOLD MOVE 


327 

by them, Madame Van Pelt held herself free to open 
and suppress. 

I dared not confide in Madame Van Pelt, for who 
could expect the directrice of a pensionnat de demoi- 
selles to permit meddling in family affairs as I pro- 
posed doing? To make use of servants, governesses, 
or visitors privately to mail a letter, was a crime too 
heinous to be entertained for a moment. But one 
way of mailing that letter was open to me — and that 
was to mail it myself. 

How was this difficult and dangerous feat to be 
accomplished? We passed two mail-boxes on our 
daily walk to and from the avenue. One of these 
boxes was at the foot of the long, hilly street that we 
always crossed to reach the avenue, but it was placed 
at an angle that made it useless for my purpose. 

The second box was at the top of this same street, 
fastened to a pillar that stood within half a block 
of the front door of the pensionnat, and so close 
did the narrow sidewalk push us to this pillar-post 
that I easily could put my hand on it as we went 
by. 

Upon this box was fastened all my hopes, and the 
problem now left to me to be solved was how to get 
my letter inside. 

The orderly manner in which our walks were con- 
ducted made this an almost impossible undertaking. 
We were marched out in a long correct line of twos, 


328 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


even space behind and before, with Madame Van Pelt 
at the head, Mademoiselle Touchard in the rear, and 
wide-awake governesses posted at intervals outside the 
ranks to see that we kept the regulation space and 
distance, held our arms just so, turned our heads 
neither to the right nor the left, and conversed in the 
lowest of undertones. 

How then, in the full light of noonday, was it possi- 
ble to make a movement undetected, especially near a 
letter-box which is always an object of suspicion to 
surveillantsf 

I had but one chance, and that was to watch my 
opportunity as we brushed against the corner box, 
and, while the attention of those in charge of us was 
concentrated upon turning us with neatness and des- 
patch into the side street, to dexterously slip my let- 
ter into the slot. 

Upon this one single point hinged success or fail- 
ure. 

No thief trying to conceal ill-gotten booty suffered 
more torment than I did trying to conceal that let- 
ter. Not for a single instant did I dare let it leave 
my person lest it should be captured and all lost. 
Night after night I slept with it under my pillow, 
where it brought me feverish dreams of Old Prowler 
trying to tear it from me, and one awful morning I 
awoke to find it lying, address up, on the floor, just 
where Madame Van Pelt could not have failed to 


I MAKE A BOLD MOVE 


329 

see it on her nocturnal tour, had not the fates kindly 
timed its fall to my advantage. 

I carried the letter about in my pocket until the 
envelope became so soiled and crumpled that I was 
obliged to replace it with a fresh one. Alas, in my 
zeal against detection I destroyed with the old envelope 
the precious address of the marchioness. I dared not 
trust to memory for it. I dared not search Laurice’s 
desk in the daytime, so one dark night I was obliged 
to steal down-stairs in bare feet to the grande classe 
to get it. 

While rummaging with desperate haste through 
Laurice’s blotter for the card which I had long since 
replaced, I saw the gleam of Madame Van Pelt’s 
candle shine through the keyhole, and I was compelled 
to take flight with undignified haste behind an easel 
blackboard. 

Here I stood, shivering from cold and fright, while 
madame made a conscientious tour of the room, and 
not until she had vanished in the regions of the salle 
de gymnastique did I venture forth, and, like an af- 
frighted hare, scuttle away up the stairs, three steps 
at a time, and tumble into bed with pulses and ear- 
drums beating to bursting. 

But I had the precious card, and my letter was soon 
readdressed, and then recommenced the miserable bur- 
den of keeping it hidden. 

I tried for a time to conceal it inside my dress. 


330 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


below my neck, where it pricked me all day like the 
sting of a voracious mosquito, until finally the strain 
began to tell upon my health and spirits. In every eye 
I read my guilt. Every voice spoke to accuse. 
Every sound made my poor heart tremble like a lump 
of jelly. 

'' You do not look well, Cherie. You seem so 
nervous, so excited. What is the matter? ” Laurice 
was constantly asking me these anxious times. 

I would make some light answer about a pressure 
of study which the Easter holidays would put right, 
but the truth was, it was the rapid approach of these 
holidays that was filling me with dread. The holi- 
days ended our regular walks, and to think of sur- 
reptitiously posting a letter during our vacation ram- 
bles, when our chaperone almost literally held us by 
the hand, was sheer madness. 

I might drop the letter in the street and trust to 
the good-will of the finder to mail it. But suppose it 
should fall into the hands of a person who would 
consider it a duty to carry the find to Madame Van 
Pelt? Foreigners, the laxest of them, have decided 
ideas on the subject of des jeunes filles en pensionnat. 
I shuddered for results should my letter reach la 
directrice in this way above all others. 

Again, one might suppose I could enclose the trou- 
blesome missive to my mother, who, without question, 
would forward it to its destination. But not even 


I MAKE A BOLD MOVE 331 

for the sake of Laurice would I entangle my trusting 
and innocent mother in my venturesome plot. 

Whatever the trouble, whatever the responsibility, 
whatever the outcome, I alone must bear all. 


CHAPTER XXV 


LAURICE RECEIVES AN INVITATION 

T he last week before the Easter holidays! I 
was desperate. The letter was still unmailed. 
Five days out of the seven it rained; the 
sixth was threatening — a typical April day of cloud 
and sunshine, and though the sun shone brightly 
enough at the moment of starting on our noon consti- 
tutional, we carried umbrellas against a possible storm. 

I strongly feared that this would be our last walk 
before the holidays. Urged by my desperate case, I 
resolved at all hazards to get that letter into the box 
on the corner this very noon. 

Unfortunately I was placed on the inside rank. 
My partner was stupid little Wilhemina von der 
Poppe, who called out at the critical moment, in a 
voice loud enough to bring down upon herself two 
bad marks against order: '‘Wacht, Sherida Mon- 
roe! You wish for make me in de gutter go — ja!** 
By this time we had turned the corner. The letter 
was still in my hand, concealed by the flap of my 
jacket-pocket. 

The one slim chance now left to me was on our 
332 


RECEIVES AN INVITATION 333 

way back. If I failed — but fail I would not, for 
I now was resolved to throw prudence to the winds 
by openly and defiantly dropping my letter into the 
box on my return. Once inside the mail-box it could 
not be recovered, and whatever might be the conse- 
quence of my rash act, I was prepared to meet it as 
the price of my friendship for Laurice. I would be 
expelled, sent home in disgrace, but my mother, I 
knew, would forgive me and Laurice would not cast 
me off. What did the rest matter? 

Our walk was precipitately shortened by heavy 
storm-clouds which were gathering thick and fast in 
the west, and by the time we reached the foot of the 
hilly side-street the sky was black with them. 

One instant Madame Van Pelt hesitated between 
climbing the long hill before us or scurrying round by 
a longer though less arduous way. But a big rain- 
drop splashing down on our heads decided the ques- 
tion, and up the steep hill we were rushed at full 
speed. 

Blacker and blacker grew the sky, faster and faster 
we were hurried, and the more desperate became my 
clutch upon the letter pressing against my pocket. 
The moment for action had come and I was keyed 
up to the highest pitch to meet it. All my energies, 
all my desires were concentrated upon that particular 
pillar-post at the head of that long street. 

Faint mutterings of thunder were now heard, but 


334 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


the rain still held back, and at the top of the street 
there was an instant’s pause while the girls regained 
their breath after their fast run up the hill. Already 
half the long line was at the door of the pensionnat, 
with Madame Van Pelt pulling violently at the bell 
in her anxiety to get her flock under shelter before 
the storm broke. 

Step by step my end of the line advanced toward 
the goal upon which all my senses were focused. We 
were now almost upon it. My breath came in gasps. 
My heart was pounding furiously. The supreme mo- 
ment had arrived, when suddenly, in one awful crack, 
the thunder burst over our heads, and, with a force 
that half blinded me, down pelted the rain with a rush 
and a rustle like the passing of a thousand mighty 
wings. 

In the confusing excitement of unfolding umbrellas 
and running for the now wide-opened door, I pushed 
through the struggling ranks and dropped my letter 
in the box. With the thud that told me it had safely 
landed, I felt a sharp clutch at my shoulder, and turn- 
ing with a hoarse cry, I saw the form of Mademoiselle 
Malaise fleeing to shelter and calling shrilly to me as 
she went : ‘‘ Run, child, run ! Do you want to be 

drowned like a rat ! ” 

I did run, and, as soon as she, was under cover in 
the big vaulted vestibule, the noisiest and merriest of 
the laughing, chattering girls, who, now that all 


RECEIVES AN INVITATION 335 

danger was passed, were in high glee over their es- 
capade. 

My letter has gone ! My letter has gone ! ’’ my 
happy heart was singing. Success or failure, I was 
rid of the awful incubus that had blighted my days. 
The letter was gone, and for me the world was full 
of sunshine and happy people and beautiful things. 

I wanted to run, to shout, to laugh, to fly, to sing 
for joy, and I had all I could do, every time I looked 
at Laurice calmly poring over her books, not to run 
to her and exclaim, ‘‘ Oh, I know something perfectly 
lovely that’s going to happen to you pretty soon ! ” 

And only the thought that I wanted what I had done 
to come to her as a magnificent surprise gave me the 
strength to hold my tongue. 

By and by the sun came out in earnest and Madame 
Van Pelt sent us out into the burgomaster’s garden 
for a run. Every corner was blooming with great 
bushes of sweet-scented lilacs, and I gathered the 
lovely white and purple sprays with the raindrops still 
clinging to them, and fastened them in Laurice’s dark 
hair and at her slender brown throat, and told her 
that she looked like an Egyptian princess. 

Then I clapped my hands and laughed as though 
my foolish speech had been the most brilliant of 
witticisms. 

‘‘ What has come over you? You seem half-crazy 
with happiness ! ” Laurice wonderingly remarked. 


336 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


‘‘Oh, Tm so happy, so happy! To-morrow vaca- 
tion begins ! I hilariously sang, throwing my arms 
about my friend in a hug that surprised her immensely, 
for I was not given to such exhibitions. 

Oh, how hard it was not to tell Laurice my wonder- 
ful secret! We were standing near a great bush of 
syringa that was like one immense bouquet of fra- 
grant bloom, and Laurice had thrust a sprig of it in 
her dress and was inhaling the perfume with such 
enjoyment that I said to her: “ You must be fond of 
syringa. I remember you had a bunch of it the day 
I met you in the Grande Place, and you wore a spray 
of it the day you came back to school.” 

“ I love it ! I love it ! ” Laurice tenderly murmured. 
“ It is godmother’s favorite flower. La pauvre mar- 
raine! ” 

Ah, I then nearly told my secret. 

Ever since the announcement of Rosalie’s marriage 
it had been arranged that Laurice was to spend the 
Easter holidays at school with me. 

“ Rosalie is only too delighted,” Laurice said when 
she brought the glad news of her sister’s permission. 
“ She’s up to the eyebrows in her trousseau just now, 
and has her apartment filled with seamstresses, so I 
should only be in the way. 

“ Besides,” Laurice added with the roguish little 
twist of her lips that with her expressed amusement, 
“ my schooling is paid up to August, with no deduc- 


RECEIVES AN INVITATION 


337 


tion for holidays, so you see I should be nothing but 
trouble and expense in a pension a la mode. Rosalie 
is hien contenfe, Cherie, to have you as an excuse to 
keep me at school these days/’ 

And then Laurice and I fell to laying plans for the 
happiest way of spending those precious ten days. 
We would take long walks in the old garden, we 
would read favorite books, we would go into the gay 
streets and look in the beautiful windows, for Laurice 
loved beautiful things as much as I did. 

And ril show you how to trie o ter the loveliest 
little Iceland floss boudoir-shawl for your mother — 
un papillon it is called,” Laurice said. ‘‘ I made a 
pink one for marraine.” 

Three days of our ten had gone, and I was startled 
one beautiful morning — the very morning we had 
planned to start the papillon — to see Laurice, her 
face pale, an open letter in her hand, coming with agi- 
tated steps to where I waited on the terrace. 

My heart sank. I knew what had happened. God- 
mother had written and Laurice was coming to de- 
nounce me as an impertinent meddler. How could I 
meet her righteous anger ? How look her in the face 
after my betrayal of her confidence? I felt myself 
turn white as she threw herself down on the bench 
beside me with a dismayed, Oh, Cherie ! ” 

‘‘ What is it ? What does she say ? ” I heard my- 
self huskily whisper. 


338 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Suppose I don^t tell you for being so curious/' 
Laurice teased, turning upon me with a playfulness 
that to me at that moment seemed the very refinement 
of cruelty. 

‘‘Quick! Tell me! Why do you keep me wait- 
ing?" I fumed under pressure of the intolerable sus- 
pense. 

Laurice regarded me curiously. 

“ How cross you are this morning, Cherie," she 
complained in hurt reproach. 

Then, thrusting the letter into my hand, she added 
in her old kindly way : “ There ! Read it ! I shan't 

tease you any more ! The letter's from Claire ! " 

“ Claire ! " I caught my breath with a happy laugh 
of relief. 

“ She writes to invite me to spend the remainder 
of the holidays with her," Laurice replied. 

“But you won't go?" I jumped at her in jealous 
alarm. 

** Certainement, non!^' Laurice returned. “You 
don't suppose I'd leave you after all our lovely plans ! 

“ But what puzzles me," she musingly continued, 
“ is why Claire asks me and not you, or why not both 
of us together." 

“ Because she knows I wouldn't go," I snapped with 
the intolerance that the discussion of Claire always 
aroused in me. 

“ Now it's all your own fault, Cherie," Laurice 


RECEIVES AN INVITATION 


339 


scolded, taking me by the shoulders with a playful 
■little shake. If you had let me tell Claire, as I 
wanted to, that I was going to spend les vacances at 
school, this never would have happened. She thinks, 
of course, that I am passing my time in a stupid old 
pension and took pity on me/’ 

‘‘ Fm not so sure of that,” I insinuated with the 
shrewdness bom of a sudden suspicion. I didn’t 
want her to know of our plans for the very reason 
that she might play us a trick to overturn them. I 
believe now she did know about them after all. Don’t 
you remember Ghislaine giving us such a fright by pop- 
ping out from behind the piano one day when we were 
discussing our plan in the little cabinet de musique? 
Of course Ghislaine told Claire what she heard. That 
child is an imp for sharpness. A worthy sister to 
Claire!” I spitefully added. 

“ Poor Claire ! ” Laurice laughingly commiserated. 

I am afraid nothing ever will make you like her.” 

I’m afraid nothing ever will,” I growlingly ac- 
quiesced. 

After Laurice’s sister had gone this visiting Thurs- 
day, for even during the rush of wedding prepara- 
tions Rosalie kept up her pretty farce of sisterly de- 
votion, Laurice brought me the news that she had to 
accept Claire’s invitation. 

‘‘ Rosalie insists upon it,” she dejectedly told me. 

She says that the de Miron family is just the sort 


340 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


of family we ought to know, and that I should con- 
sider it a duty, if not to myself, to her not to throw 
away this opportunity of cultivating des personnages 
so desirables. She is so impressed with the advan- 
tages that she is going to spend fifty francs on me 
in what she considers suitable preparations. 

“ I suppose you’ll have to go, then,” I dejectedly 
observed. 

“ I suppose so,” Laurice as dejectedly returned. 

You see, so long as Fm in school Fm under Rosalie’s 
authority and I have to obey her, unless I want to 
defy her openly, as I did about being a governess,” 
she added with a touching little smile, half humorous, 
half pathetic. 

Then she jumped up, calling herself a rude, un- 
grateful girl not to appreciate better Claire’s kind in- 
vitation, and forthwith set herself to work to write 
a polite note of acceptance. 

Laurice, in a dozen ways, unconsciously betrayed 
what a treat this little trip really was to her. She 
put much serious thought into the packing of her 
small trunk — for she was to be gone seven whole 
days. She trimmed her shabby black dresses in her 
natty French way with lace and bits of ribbon and 
called them des toilettes, and contemplated with al- 
most childish delight the few odds and ends of simple 
finery that for once her sister had bestowed upon 
her with good grace. 


RECEIVES AN INVITATION 341 

‘‘ Rosalie has given me her old negligee of flowered 
crepe de Chine/’ she informed me with a glee that I 
considered out of all proportion. “ With fresh lace 
and ribbons it will look charmingly new. 

“ And she has given me besides,” Laurice rattled 
on with the gayness that I secretly resented as light- 
headed and frivolous, ‘‘ her old-rose satin slippers and 
bought me a pair of silk stockings to match, to wear 
with my matinee garnished with trimmings of the 
same color. I shall be hien costumee for my little 
visit to Claire, shall I not, Cherie?” 

‘‘ Poor Laurice ! ” I again said to myself, for I re- 
membered how few pleasures ever came into her dull 
life, and I called myself a mean, selfish creature to 
grudge her a single joy that came her way. So in 
spite of the annoyance I felt in thinking that Claire 
had done this thing to spite me, I tried to make my- 
self glad for the sake of mon amie. 

I enlarged with an enthusiasm I really felt upon 
the de Mirons’ beautiful home, and expanded with a 
generosity I didn’t feel upon the lovely time I knew 
she would have with Claire, who was a delightful 
hostess, until Laurice was quite carried away by her 
prospects. 

‘‘ I wish you were coming, too ! ” she sighed so dole- 
fully that I had to shake her up with a very stern: 

Now don’t you go spoil your visit thinking about 
me ! I shall get along very well without you. I shall 


342 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


find plenty of nice things to do. And I shall have 
Elizabeth to write to.’’ 

** Ah, your princess friend ! ” Laurice exclaimed in 
a tone of pique that showed how neatly my small shot 
had gone home. 

Laurice knew all about my friendship with Eliza- 
beth. She loved to hear me talk about her, and in- 
sisted upon having me read to her the letters that 
came with weekly punctuality. 

But if I raved too much, or showed too much in- 
terest, Laurice retaliated by calling Elizabeth, in a 
mocking little way, my princess friend, which plainly 
proved that Laurice had some jealousy in the make-up 
of her character. 

“ Is there anything, Laurice, that would turn you 
against a friend ? ” I asked her in a sudden impulse, 
as we sat talking together the day before her visit. 

“ I do not think I ever could forgive deception ” ; 
Laurice spoke slowly, as though reflecting well upon 
each word. 

“ It’s this way, mon amie,” she continued in the 
same deliberate fashion. “ I am so ugly and have 
so many disagreeable faults that it is most difficult for 
me to believe that anybody can like me. But once I 
do believe, I believe absolutely, and if that person 
should deceive me I do not think I ever should get 
over the hurt. Me voild pour une ne vaux pas la 
peine!'* 


RECEIVES AN INVITATION 543 

‘‘ You need not work yourself into such a furious 
French rage/’ I scolded, for Laurice gave all her emo- 
tions a tragical twist that sometimes made me feel 
like wanting to slap her. 

Then the big front-door bell broke into a noisy 
jangling and clanging, and off I scampered to see if 
the English girls had brought me back des pates aux 
groseilles I had ordered. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


LAURICE RETURNS 

A LETTER came from my mother during 
Laurice’s absence at the de Mirons, in an- 
swer to the one I had sent telling of my friend 
going away to Africa as a governess, and asking for 
money to buy her a parting gift. 

Instead of the modest check I had looked for, I 
found a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. 

“ Find a way to make your friend take this money,’’ 
my dear, generous, tender-hearted mother wrote. “ It 
will be a good thing for her to have by her when 
she is far away among strangers in a strange land. 
She is a noble girl, and though I regret that she will 
not permit us to do for her all that we should like, I 
admire her pluck and independence.” 

My darling mother! How I loved her for her 
kindness to mon amie! She was right, too. Money 
would serve Laurice far better than any gift. So I 
resolved to put the bill in a little silver purse of mine 
that Laurice had always admired, and with a note, 
telling that the money came as a token of esteem from 
my mother, as well as of affection from me, slip it at 
344 


LAURICE RETURNS 


345 


the last moment into her trunk, where she would find 
it some day, perhaps at the very time when most she 
needed it. 

Thinking of and arranging this little plan brought 
me back with a start to the present, and I recalled with 
a throb of quickened interest that the godmother’s let- 
ter yet had to come. 

A full week had passed since the eventful day when 
I had mailed it, and the answer, if answer there was 
to be, was probably now on the table in Madame Van 
Pelt’s bureau, awaiting Laurice’s return to school to 
be delivered. 

This thought was not entirely one of pleasurable 
anticipation for me, for the fear of betrayal by an 
indignant and indiscreet old godmother, who resented 
a stranger meddling in her private affairs as I had 
done, hung heavy over my head, and I lived in a 
state of constantly studying Madame Van Pelt’s face 
for some clue to the situation. 

I received a dreadful shock toward the end of the 
holidays when, one morning, Madame Van Pelt 
gravely invited me to follow her into her private 
office. 

I shall make no attempt to depict the anguish of 
that short walk from the refectory to the bureau, as in 
imagination I beheld myself as a scorned and scouted 
miscreant bundled off in the next ship for America. 
The suffering of my guilty soul during those five min- 


346 SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 

utes was too abject for me even now to recall without 
pain. 

Suffice to say, my fears were groundless. The sub- 
ject discussed in the privacy of Madame Van Pelt’s 
apartments was a very pleasant one, to be told of later. 

My thoughts now were concentrated upon the re- 
turn of Laurice and her reception of the letter which 
I had convinced myself awaited in the office of la 
directrice. I lived torn on a rack of conflicting emo- 
tions. One moment I found myself looking forward 
to knowing even the worst as a moment of merciful 
relief. The next I was rejecting the thought with 
unspeakable dread. 

Never was day so long to me, and so crowded with 
agitating emotions, as was that last day of the holidays 
when the girls came crowding back into the grande 
classe with their noise and excitable chatter. 

Neither Laurice nor Claire had arrived when we 
were marched to bed at nine, and worn out by my long 
day of waiting and worrying, my head no sooner had 
touched the pillow than I fell sound asleep. 

I was awakened, seemingly in the same minute, by 
a rush of cool, flower-scented air, and by the feeling 
that somebody was near. 

Laurice ! ” I called. 

By the faint light that came from the high window 
overhead I saw she was standing beside the little table 
that held my jug and bowl. She wore her hat and 


LAURICE RETURNS 


347 


jacket, showing that she had but recently arrived, and 
her arms were filled with flowers which she was heap- 
ing into the basin and sprinkling with water from the 

She turned when I spoke, and her face against her 
black dress glimmered white in the pale blur that came 
from the uncurtained window. 

“ I came only to bring you these flowers,'^ she said 
in a low voice. “ Claire sent them. Bonne nuitf' 

And then she was gone, departing so swiftly that I 
sat for several minutes staring after her, as though I 
was not sure whether the Laurice I had seen had been 
of the spirit or the flesh. 

But soon I heard her moving about in her cham- 
brette, and then I realized that Laurice was back and 
had left me without a greeting. 

“ It is late. She is tired. She has some good rea- 
son that I shall know to-morrow,'^ I consoled myself 
as I fell asleep. 

I was late to prayers next morning and did not see 
Laurice to speak to her until after early breakfast, 
when she caught up with me in the carre to explain 
how she and Claire happened to get to school so late. 

Claire would gather those flowers for you, and 
we missed our train by just half a minute,'^ she said. 
‘‘ When we arrived in Brussels we had to jump into a 
fiacre and drive with all speed to the school, and Mon- 
sieur and Madame de Miron had fairly to gallop to 


348 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


catch the midnight train home. I didn’t mean to 
awaken you when I came into your chambrette,” she 
added, “but I knew those lovely flowers would fade 
before morning if not put into water. I am sorry I 
disturbed you.” 

Laurice looked so hurried and her manner was so 
strangely disturbed that I concluded the pleasures of 
her visit with the de Mirons had turned her head, and 
I should have to give her time to return to her normal 
pose condition. Then I would scold her well for 
treating me so shabbily. 

I had a big surprise for Laurice in the grande classe, 
and this brings me to what Madame Van Pelt and I 
talked about when she gave me that terrible fright by 
calling me into her bureau. 

Literature and composition were my two best 
studies, and as I had held my own with the Belgians 
in the Deuxieme Cours, as reward for my industry, 
and to give me every advantage this my last year, 
Madame Van Pelt allowed me to follow my two fa- 
vorite studies with the pupils of the Premier Cours. 

As further mark of her favor I was permitted to 
occupy Tania’s desk in the front row, and when Lau- 
rice came to take her usual place, she found me seated 
next to her. My little surprise, into the secret of 
which I had taken no one but Tad, created all the sen- 
sation the vainest could wish for. 

Laurice said nothing, as was sometimes her way 


LAURICE RETURNS 


349 


when moved, but Claire welcomed me gushingly, 
leaning across Laurice to give me a Frenchy peck on 
each cheek and overwhelm me with flattering con- 
gratulations that included the free use of her beauti- 
fully kept notebooks. 

As for the rest of the girls, after the first shock 
they returned to the covering of their books and filling 
their ink-bottles, and promptly forgot all about me. 

During the short recess for tartines, as our bread- 
and-butter sandwiches were called, when Laurice was 
away at a practice, Claire sidled along the bench to 
say with insinuating friendliness : ‘‘ I must explain, 

Cherie, why I invited Laurice de Crevier to my home 
without you. I wanted to know her. I felt that I 
did not understand her, and that in fairness to you, 
as well as to her and myself, I must have her all to 
myself. 

** I find her charming, so bright, so gay, so absolutely 
frank, — an entirely different person when she per- 
mits herself to be approached in good comradeship. 
You remember the little honeysuckle bower near the 
rustic bridge? That is where we exchanged our lit- 
tle confidences. Ah, how many times we wished you 
were with us ! ” 

Laurice and I had had no opportunity during the 
whole of the busy day for more than a passing word, 
but in the evening after dinner, when that accommo- 
dating teacher of Flemish came to snap Claire away 


350 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


for a good hour at least, I seized Laurice boldly and 
carried her away to the terrace. 

“And now I want you to tell me everything that 
happened while you were away at the de Mirons ! ” 
I announced as we settled ourselves in our special cor- 
ner near the old pear orchard. “ What did you do 
every day? ’’ 

“ Lots of things,” Laurice replied with a flippancy 
quite foreign to her. “ We walked and talked and 
drove and visited — and — and — ” 

“ No, that won’t do,” I interrupted. “ I want each 
day in order.” 

“ But it’s impossible for me to tell you things in 
that methodical way,” Laurice laughed frowningly, as 
though she didn’t quite like my persistency. “ I can’t 
remember details back seven whole days.” 

“ Well, you must,” I insisted with a playful air of 
tyranny. “Begin with Tuesday when you arrived. 
First you had your dejeuner a la four chef fe — and a 
jolly one, too. Then you sat and talked awhile with 
the family. Next you were taken to visit the chateau 
and the park and the hothouses. You came back for 
coffee, and later had a grand dinner, and later again 
un petit souper. After that you went to bed, so tired 
that you slept almost without breathing. Go on, now. 
Wednesday? ” 

“ Let me see,” Laurice mused. “ Wednesday was 
an exquisite day and Claire and I went for a walk 


LAURICE RETURNS 


351 

and gathered quantities of beautiful wild muguets and 
my os Otis 

“ Thursday ? ” I urged. 

“ Thursday,” Laurice repeated. Thursday was 
rainy, so we stayed in the house and played games with 
the children. In the afternoon I remember that I 
wrote to you.” 

“Friday?” I prodded. 

“ Friday,” Laurice replied, “ we went to a neigh- 
boring chateau to take coffee with a dear old countess. 
Her son is the Count Henri Van der Velde. Claire 
is going to marry him. Did you know that ? ” 

“ I suspected it,” I answered. “ Go on ! ” I teased, 
seeing in Laurice's question an attempt to escape my 
catechising. “How about Saturday?” 

“ Saturday,” Laurice brightened to say, “ we drove 
to some famous ruins and had a picnic on rocks sup- 
posed to have been Roman altars way back in the fifth 
century, when Belgium was under the dominion of 
Caesar. There! I have told you everything! Are 
you content?” Laurice added with a distinct sigh of 
relief. 

“ Sunday ? ” I insisted. “ How did you pass Sun- 
day?” 

“Just like any other Sunday,” Laurice replied 
sharply, as though annoyed. 

“ I don't think that visit to Claire de Miron has 
done you a bit of good, Laurice,” I crossly remarked. 


352 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


You don’t want to tell me anything and you seem 
so tired and upset.” 

‘‘ I am tired ! I am upset ! ” Laurice exclaimed, 
so earnestly that I instantly repented of my harsh- 
ness, to say, as I stroked her slim brown hand : “ Yes, 
I know you’re tired. I see it and I am a heartless 
wretch to tease with questions. Satisfy me about Sun- 
day and then I’ll let you alone. Of course you went 
to church in the morning and had an early dinner in 
that beautiful old monks’ library. And then?” 

“ And then,” Laurice murmured, her head resting 
dejectedly against the trunk of the tree under which 
we sat, everybody in the house took a nap.” 

‘‘ But not you and Claire,” I observed with a con- 
fident smile. 

“ No,” Laurice admitted. ‘‘ Claire and I walked 
together about the grounds until we were tired.” 

‘‘ And then?” 

“ And then we rested in the little summer-house.” 

I know it well ! ” I exclaimed. ‘‘ And I suppose 
you and Claire sat there and talked and talked and 
talked.” 

Laurice nodded in a spiritless way. 

Suddenly I felt her start, as she exclaimed, “ Here 
comes Claire! ” with a ring of joy in her voice so ex- 
ultant that in surprise I turned to look at her. 

I was astonished at what I saw. All her listless- 
ness was gone. Her eyes shone. And there was un- 


LAURICE RETURNS 


353 


mistakable gladness in the haste with which she moved 
away to make room between us for Claire de Miron. 

I should have been blind indeed not to have seen 
the change in Laurice since her return from the de 
Mirons. The coldness that I at first thought imagi- 
nary, or had plenty of pretexts upon which to excuse 
it, was real. Laurice, with a subtle force, was de- 
liberately repressing my every advance. 

What could be the trouble? 

That Laurice was morbidly sensitive and that Claire 
de Miron would take advantage of this to sow seeds 
of dissension I had reason to know. 

Once during the silence and solemnity of a certain 
study hour Octavie de Beauchemin, who happened for 
the moment to be sitting next to me and directly be- 
hind Claire de Miron, saw peeping above the white 
edge of Claire's stiff linen collar a pale line of blue. 
In a flash the mischievous Octavie leaned over, and, 
with a dexterous twist of her penholder, whipped out 
to the light of day a goodly length of blue ribbon to 
which was attached a pearl and turquoise ring. 

Scarlet with rage, Claire tucked back ring and rib- 
bon, Octavie was given a bad mark for disturbing 
order, and there the matter ended so far as the school 
was concerned. But a day later Laurice said to me, 
‘‘ Do you know anything about that ring that Claire 
wears round her neck ? " 

“ I know a good deal about it,” was my somewhat 


354 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


acrid reply. “ I suppose Claire told you some ro- 
mantic story.’ ^ 

She told me nothing,” Laurice quietly said. “ I 
simply fancied from her manner that you had given it 
to her, and I thought it strange, from you who so vio- 
lently repudiate even the mildest attachment to her.” 

“ I did not give Claire de Miron that ring, a ring, 
or any ring,” I mocked with an emphasis that called 
from Laurice a grave, ‘‘ That is all I care to know.” 

And now Claire de Miron, by some subtle art, had 
stolen my friend away from me. I was more than 
surprised. I was hurt and humiliated. 

I might have demanded an explanation, but a deep 
sense of injured pride held me from taking this step. 

“If there is anything to explain,” I said to myself, 
“ Laurice should be the one to do it. She shall not 
force me to speak first.” 

So I closed my lips and in my turn became proudly 
indifferent, and though Laurice and I smilingly walked 
and talked together and outwardly all was the same, 
the breach between us silently widened. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


A RUPTURED FRIENDSHIP 

B ut I didn’t mope. Not I, indeed. Neither 
Ailsie Dunmire, nor the rest of the critical, 
fault-finding Britishers would ever again get a 
chance to say that I wore my heart on my sleeve. I 
would let Laurice de Crevier and Claire de Miron see 
that I could enjoy life very well without them. 

As once before, I pitched in with the Belgians, and, 
as luck would have it, just when I made my resolu- 
tion to be one of them we had a most glorious prank. 
The gas went out during evening study. 

The gas at the Pensionnat Van Pelt was always 
playing curious tricks. It wheezed and it whistled and 
it groaned and it gurgled. One moment it would flare 
up with a terrifying roar. The next it would dwindle 
down to a tantalizing flicker. But this was the first 
time within memory of any pupil that it ever had done 
anything so perfectly delightful as to go out entirely. 

Think of it! Absolute darkness and the grande 
classe packed with girls ready for fun! Could one 
conceive ot a situation more to our taste! 

Haughty creatures like Laurice de Crevier and poky 
355 


3S6 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


things like Claire de Miron, of course, took no part. 
I heard no sound from Laurice, though Mademoiselle 
de Miron made herself very officious helping the dis- 
tracted governesses keep order until lights of some 
sort could be found; but she had her trouble for her 
pains, for as well expect to control a lot of wild birds 
escaped from a prison-cage, as these madcap Belgians 
let loose in the dark. 

They threw over the benches, scrambled across the 
desks, pranced everywhere, and pulled and pommeled 
one another about with squeals and shrieks of merri- 
ment that drowned all voices but their own. 

Even the sedate Britishers so far lost their heads 
under the protection of darkness as to join in the crazy 
frolic. 

In the midst of the hubbub Madame Van Pelt ar- 
rived, followed by the grinning Leontine bearing a 
very small lighted candle in a very big candlestick. 

Our good directrice, who had come to explain that 
air, or water, or some such foreign substance, had 
gotten into the gas meter and we should be deprived 
of light for the rest of the evening, was greatly 
shocked at what she called our manieres harhares, and 
said that since we were demoiselles so little to be 
trusted, the best place for us was bed. 

Wildly hilarious over this interesting turn of affairs, 
into desks were tossed books and cahiers, and upstairs 
we were marched, with maid-servants before holding 


A RUPTURED FRIENDSHIP 357 

a lighted candle over the railing of each landing, and 
in the rear governesses imploring Jeanne and Marie, 
and Lucie and Charlotte, and the rest of the giggling 
etourdies, to keep order. 

Oh, the fun, in the feebly, sputteringly illumined 
darkness, of winding up those narrow, twisting stairs 
to our various dortoirs. 

The dortoir des Anglaises behaved atrociously. 
We talked as much as we pleased, we ran barefooted 
all over the place, threw pillows over the partitions, 
made ridiculous speeches from the top of the long cen- 
ter toilet-table, and impertinently defied poor Miss 
Leigh, whom we made frantic, every time she got near 
enough to capture one of us, by mischievously blow- 
ing out her candle. 

At last we were settled and I was just drowsily 
trailing ofif into dreamland when I was suddenly 
yanked into wide-awake-land by Ailsie Dunmire pull- 
ing me upright with excited whisperings of : “ Get 

up, get up. Sherry! We're going to the ‘ sally jimmy- 
nastick ' for a lark on the ‘ paddy gint ' I And be 
awfully quiet, for we don’t want the Beiges to know.” 

Stopping just long enough to slide my feet into a 
pair of wool slippers, I padded after Ailsie to where 
the Britishers, ghostly white in the moonbeams that 
streamed through the corridor window, awaited. 

Like spooks we crept down the steep stairs, past 
the closed doors of the dortoir des Beiges, crossed the 


358 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


deserted width of the big grande classe, cautiously 
crept up the creaky gymnasium steps, and silently 
landed ourselves in the gymnasium, through whose 
many-windowed sides the moonlight poured in a silver 
sheet. 

As one we dragged down the ropes of the pas de 
geant, and away we sprinted on ghostly feet — Ailsie 
and Emily and Suky and Minty and Roberta and 
Louise and Tad and I — like a lot of white-robed 
witches on broomsticks. 

We dared not speak, for the dortoir des Beiges was 
just overhead, and we stifled our giggles so that not 
a sound was heard save the muffled thud of our shoe- 
less feet as they struck the floor in rhythmic measure, 
and the rasping squeak of the pivot as the whirligig 
spun madly round and round. 

Hist! The sharp ears of Suky caught a suspicious 
noise. On the instant all movement ceased, and poised 
as we stood, still and motionless as stone, we lifted 
heads alert to hear. 

A door-knob was stealthily turned. A sound of 
creeping swished steadily near. 

“ The Hole ! Quick, the Hole I '' the Britishers 
warningly whispered. 

We dropped the ropes of the pas de geant as though 
they were red-hot, darted behind the little stove, and, 
with the rapidity of balls shot from a catapult, sprang 
one after the other through the Hole,’* where, among 


A RUPTURED FRIENDSHIP 359 

the smothering truck of the old cloak-room, we hud- 
dled together in shivering apprehension. 

The knob of the salle de gymnastique door turned 
slowly, and oh, how softly! The door opened, and 
upon the threshold, bathed in the dazzling light of a 
cloudless moon, stood no ferocious bouledogue, the 
Belgian Old Prowler, no wild-eyed Mademoiselle 
Malaise, no avenging Madame Van Pelt, but Octavie 
de Beauchemin, looking splendidly statuesque in her 
trailing white nightdress and black hair floating wide. 

Behind her trooped a bunch of pranksters from the 
dortoir des Beiges. Seeing the coast clear, the lot of 
them tiptoed into the salle, hugging themselves in ec- 
static efforts to control their snickering mirth, made 
a dart for the ropes of the pas de geant — and away 
they went! 

We in the “ Hole ” were still quaking from the shock 
to our nerves. We too giggled maliciously, and poked 
one another in the ribs, and clapped hands over one 
another’s mouths, but not a word did we speak. We 
understood without speech. 

Swiftly and lightly out we crept from the suffocat- 
ing blackness of the “ Hole,” down the thick blackness 
of the passageway, and up the short, steep little 
flight of the salle de gymnastique steps. 

At the door one instant’s pause, and then Suky, 
always bravely to the front, seized the knob in a firm 
hand, gave it a violent twist, and flung wide the door 


36o schoolgirl ALLIES 

with a Hiss ! ’' of a prolonged, blood-curdling, para- 
lyzing effect. 

The Beiges, so bold, so brave, so defiant, for once in 
their valiant lives were powerless to act. 

Those clinging to the flying ropes of the pas de 
geant dropped like bags of meal. The trapeze sprites 
hung limp in mid-air, the ladder-walkers jumped 
weakly to the floor, and the dancers, the hoppers, the 
leapers, the tumblers, stood petrified in attitudes of 
abject surprise and terror. 

Quickly enough, however, to their glory be it said, 
they recovered when they recognized the intruders, and 
the affair ended by all joining forces as friends. 

Oh, what polkas and waltzes and quadrilles we 
danced by the light of the kind old moon! What 
flinging of heels and waving of arms! What whirls 
and swirls and twirls of our mirth-frenzied, ghostly 
clad figures in the very delirium of a delirious free- 
dom! 

We kept up the mad dance until a creaking board 
sent British and Beiges darting in a panic to the hid- 
ing-place with muttered jumblings of : “ The Hole ! ” 

Le Trou ! Make haste ! Vite ! 

One fearful moment of pushing, squeezing, claw- 
ing, kicking! One horrible instant when Octavie de 
Beauchemin’s robust proportions got themselves 
wedged in the opening and Ailsie's rotundity stuck 
sideways! But at last all stood safe in the security 



Swiftly and lightly out we crept from the suffocating 

BLACKNESS. — Page 359. 






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A RUPTURED FRIENDSHIP 361 


of the little cloak-room, awaiting in palpitating ap- 
prehension for what might be coming. 

Mademoiselle Tarent was what came. 

Good little Lucie Tarent! So fat, so comfortably 
easy-tempered, so excellent as teacher, so guileless as 
surueillante ! 

Candle in hand, in the doorway of the salle de gym- 
nastique she stood, drowsily contemplating the sway- 
ing ropes of the pas de geant, as though expecting girls 
to step out from the knots, while we silently tiptoed 
our way down the Trou ” passage, and by the time 
our good Lucie had finished her dreaming we were 
dreaming safely in bed. 

More days of this hoydenish larking, and then came 
the last one so far as I was concerned. 

Juliette de Rameau, always on the alert for mis- 
chief, came into the grande classe one morning to 
find Mademoiselle Malaise gone. A newly filled 
ink-well stood upon the desk of the absent mai- 
tresse, and into the tempting fluid Juliette dipped 
a finger and with it smeared in rapid succession the 
cheek of each girl in the row she passed on the way 
to her seat. 

I was among these girls, — the last of the line, — 
and as Juliette’s dancing eyes met mine with a ques- 
tioning ”Toi aussif” I nodded an encouraging 
Ouir 

And down darted the black forefinger in a zigzag 


362 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


that crossed my face from forehead to chin. I 
laughed as hilariously as the rest — all the more hi- 
lariously as I knew that Laurice heard. 

Mademoiselle Malaise came back to be met by the 
horrific sight of a row of ink-smeared faces. Six bad 
marks apiece we received on the spot for des manieres 
peu distingiiees, then were lined up to be marched in 
disgrace to Madame Van Pelt. 

I do not think a zigzag of black across one’s face 
adds either to the beauty or the dignity of one’s ap- 
pearance, and I was keenly conscious of this as I stood 
with my grinning comrades. From the tail of my eye 
I saw Claire de Miron’s smile of amusement. I saw 
her nudge Laurice, and I saw Laurice look up, then 
down, with her lip twisted in the queer little way that 
with her meant suppressed laughter. 

I was furious. Not that she laughed, — she doubt- 
less had cause, — but that she laughed with Claire de 
Miron. That was too despicable. It was treachery. 
The last spark of affection I had for Laurice de Crevier 
then and there died. I now was just good plain mad. 

We of the ink-smearing episode spent our evening 
in the grande classe writing five hundred times from 
La Rochefoucauld, or some other one of the many 
French writers who supplied maxims for our pen- 
ances: '' Les etudes serieuses font mes plus chers 
delices” 

Octavie de Beauchemin and Renee Dupont, and 


A RUPTURED FRIENDSHIP 363 

many of the other Beiges, were experts at writing three 
lines at one time with three pen-points attached to 
one holder, but under the watchful eye of Made- 
moiselle Malaise, who was in a bad temper at having 
to sit with us, I had to plod through each line, with a 
painful care to the dotting of each i and the crossing 
of each t, and no accents omitted. 

Pauvre Cherie! Cest trop fort to make you so 
penible a penitence! '' Claire sweetly condoled, as, with 
Laurice, she stopped for a moment on her way to the 
terrace. 

Laurice said nothing, though she looked grave 
enough, and the next moment, from the class window, 
I saw the pair of them crossing the courtyard, arms 
entwined, heads bent together, — talking about me, no 
doubt. 

Next afternoon, before going down to solfege, I 
sent Laure Briot, an obliging little Belgian, to tell 
Mademoiselle de Crevier that I wished to see her in 
the dortoir des Anglaises. 

Laurice came immediately, looking hurried and 
anxious. I wasted no words, for I knew Made- 
moiselle Julie would be coming to lock the dortoir. 
I had with me a small package, which I handed to 
Laurice with a freezing: ‘‘Here are your letters. 
Kindly return mine.'' 

Laurice looked surprised and hurt, as I intended 
she should be. Then suddenly she cried out : “ I 


3^4 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


want to tell you something, Cherie! Let me tell you 
something ! ” 

About Claire de Miron ? I bitingly queried. 

“ About Claire — and myself — and you,’^ she an- 
swered. 

“ I won’t hear it ! ” I angrily retorted. 

“ But it is something you ought to know. Let me 
tell you,” Laurice pleaded. 

“ I already know all you can tell me,” was my 
clinching reply. 

Even at that moment of wrath I noticed the proud 
dignity with which Laurice drew herself up to the 
full of her slender height, for a moment faced me, 
then turned and left. 

That night upon my pilldw I found a bundle of let- 
ters tied with an old lavalliere. They were the letters 
to Laurice from myself. The last link between us was 
broken. 

What hurt me more than all else in this miserable 
affair was the degradation in my eyes of Laurice’s 
character. Laurice, whom I admired as the very soul 
of loyalty and honor, to be insincere and capricious — 
the tool of Claire de Miron! I could not abide the 
thought. 

Had Laurice told Claire, I wondered, of her going 
out as a governess, and had Claire, in a freak of 
philanthropy, been moved to befriend her? Had the 
patronage of the wealth and the influence of the de 


A RUPTURED FRIENDSHIP 365 

Mirons turned her head and deadened her to all else? 
Wealth and influence then were the price for which 
Laurice had sold herself. 

She probably would not go out to Africa after all. 
And this made me think of the money my mother had 
sent, and to wonder, with a vague pain, how she would 
take the story of Laurice’s disappointing character. 

But in spite of all I still could feel glad that Laurice 
would not have to go away to die in that cruel country. 
I was glad all the more, since the little plan I had 
formed for her in so much sincere affection had failed. 

No word had come from the old godmother in an- 
swer to my letter. Our mail was distributed in pub- 
lic and it would not have been easy for Laurice to re- 
ceive anything unusual without me knowing it, watch- 
ing as closely as I watched. For a long time after 
Laurice’s return to school the delivery of the letters 
was a matter of keenest anxiety to me, and once dur- 
ing the first days I was horribly alarmed to see her 
poring, with a frown of deep annoyance, over a letter 
she was reading. 

It’s a note from Rosalie grumbling over some of 
my school extras,” she explained in answer to my 
troubled inquiry. 

Since then nothing had come for Laurice, for out- 
side of her sister she had no correspondents. The 
time limit, allowing for absence, sickness, or even 
death, had now long passed, and I was thankful that 


366 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


since no good had come from my letter to godmother, 
it had done no mischief. At the same time the fail- 
ure of the scheme that had cost so much thought and 
anxiety gave me a disagreeable sense of discourage- 
ment and defeat. 

I went little with the Britishers these days, but Ailsie 
Dunmire, who remained always loyal, drew me into 
the salle de professeur one Saturday evening after the 
girls had left. 

Stay here with me, Sherry,” she said, closing the 
door and pushing me down beside her on one of the 
low stools. ” You look miserable, and I think I know 
what the matter is. You and Laurice have quarreled. 

I have noticed this long time the way things have 
been going on,” Ailsie continued after a pause during 
which I had said nothing. ” Tell me, Sherry, what 
are you both acting so foolishly about? Maybe I 
can help you get straightened out.” 

Then I broke down. I was so lonely, so wretched, 
so friendless, and I had kept my troubles so closely to 
myself that the lightest tone and touch of sympathy 
overcame me. 

I told Ailsie everything I could tell without betray- 
ing Elizabeth’s confidence, or exposing all the depths 
of Laurice’s perfidy. When I had finished Ailsie’s 
round, rosy face was drawn into a shrewd knot that 
made her look ridiculously like a wise little brownie. 

” Sherida Monroe, you are making a huge mistake,” 


A RUPTURED FRIENDSHIP 367 

she warned impressively, shaking a plump little fore- 
finger in my face. You are doing your friend a 
dreadful injury. Laurice de Crevier, with her great 
black eyes and tragical seriousness, is altogether too 
Frenchy to suit my Scotch blood, but that she is true 
to the core I would stake all my hopes of the first prize 
for French conversation in the Troisieme Cours. No 
girl with Laurice de CrevieFs honest eyes could play 
you any such trick as you say she has,’' Ailsie added 
soberly enough. 

“ I wish I could think so,” I wearily sighed. ‘‘ But 
I am afraid things are as I say.” 

“ Well, have your own way, but depend upon it. 
Sherry, my dear,” Ailsie said earnestly as we parted, 
‘‘ there is something wrong somewhere and Claire de 
Miron is at the bottom of it. I wish I could help you.” 

Ailsie was right. I saw soon enough for myself 
that something was wrong somewhere. Laurice and 
Claire did not seem to be even comrades now. They 
talked together very little, and during recreations I 
noticed of late that Claire walked with her small sis- 
ter Ghislaine, and Laurice paced up and down the ter- 
race by herself studying assiduously. 

Yes, little Ailsie was right. Something was wrong 
somewhere. There was no deception in Laurice’s 
face — only sorrow, and when her eyes met mine, as 
they sometimes did, I saw a mute appeal that wrung 
my heart. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


FETE DE LA DIRECTRICE 

I N the gray dawn of a day in early June, Tad and 
I, the two Wilcoxes, and Miss Leigh tiptoed 
down the forbidden front stairs of the pension- 
nat and quietly stole out of the house. 

It was the jour de fete of madame la directrice, and 
we were on our way to the famous flower-market of 
the Grande Place to buy flowers to accompany the ad- 
dress of felicitation. 

Our preparations were supposed to be the darkest 
of secrets, especially to Madame Van Pelt, and we four 
had been chosen to go for the flowers because the 
flower-market of the Grande Place was considered a 
sight for les etrangeres to see. 

It was down in the oldest part of the city, near the 
hotel de ville — a square of ancient guild-houses, with 
curiously peaked roofs and time-blackened fronts, all 
carved and gilded as they were in the middle ages 
when the wicked Duke of Alva reigned and the brave 
Counts Egmont and Hoorn stood upon these same 
stones to be executed. 

The wonder of the Grande Place is the hotel de 
368 


FETE DE LA DIRECTRICE 369 

ville, looming up in its majesty of white Gothic fagade 
and wonderful tower of balconies, belfries, and tur- 
rets, rising one above the other in a filigree of stone- 
work, until gradually lost in a tapering pinnacle sur- 
mounted by a glittering point that shone in the light 
like a golden star. 

In the center of the old square the flower-market of 
gayly striped umbrellas shading booths heaped with 
greenery and masses of brilliant flowers, made a daz- 
zling patch of color against the somber background of 
ancient houses, and suggested a glowing picture set 
in a tarnished frame. 

Here the little dogcarts were filled, not with milk- 
cans, as in the open streets, but heaped with fresh 
chick weed and tiny blocks of meadow sod, spaded 
fresh with the dew on it, to give the pet birds in cages 
a glimpse of the green country. 

As, our arms heaped with flowers, we stood in the 
shadow of a side street for a backward glance at the 
beautiful Grande Place, now bathed in golden sun- 
light, from the belfry of the King’s House rang out a 
fairy chime of bells, clashing and clanging and tinkling 
and twittering in a joyous tangle of melody, so silvery 
soft and sweet that the air above our heads seemed to 
be full of angels flying about with bells on their fingers 
and toes. 

After breakfast Madame Van Pelt was led by 
Mademoiselle Touchard into the grand salon, and 


370 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


never was person so astonished as our good directrice, 
to find there assembled all her cheres Sieves with a 
huge bouquet of beautiful flowers, to offer her fete-day 
felicitations, 

Juliette de Rameau, selected, because she was so 
pretty, to make the speech of presentation, in her agi- 
tation forgot it and had to be prompted at every line. 
But Madame Van Pelt, just the same, wiped tears of 
emotion from her eyes and threw up her hands with a 
tremulous Mes en fonts! Oh, mes enfants!'' as 
though too overcome to speak. 

We next marched down-stairs to the vaulted en- 
trance vestibule where stood the ‘‘ small token of our 
love and esteem,’’ in the shape of two huge coffin-like 
boxes that for the past week had been standing in a 
corner. 

The contents of these boxes now were revealed as 
a pair of colossal plaster statues marked respectively 

Europe ” and ‘‘ America.” Europe was represented 
as a beautiful, beneficent Juno, but Tad and I were in- 
dignant to see our beloved America as a thick-lipped, 
flat-nosed, woolly-pated negress. 

''' Le vrai type americainf' the Belgian girls said in 
response to our violent protestations. And they 
brought geographies and encyclopedias to prove their 
claim, so that Tad and I had to swallow our rage. 

Madame Van Pelt then announced her surprise, 
which was that, as a reward for an exceptional year 


FETE DE LA DIRECTRICE 371 

of study, we were to be taken to spend the day at the 
famous old Abbey of Villers-la-Ville. 

I had seen Laurice among the girls of the salon and 
she was with them in the outer vestibule. After that 
I saw nothing more of her, and not until we were on 
the train for Villers did I know why. 

‘‘ The sister of Laurice de Crevier is to be married 
to-day,” I heard Octavie de Beauchemin say. Lau- 
rice has gone to the wedding. I hope she’ll bring us 
back some pralines/' 

Then I remembered, and was suddenly saddened to 
think that I should be glad mon amie was away. 

The day was magnificent — an ideal day for a 
ruin, with just breeze enough to stir the shimmering 
leaves of the poplars and ripple the waters of the slug- 
gish canals that cross and recross this part of the coun- 
try in silver-white streams, like the veins of a gigantic 
leaf. 

The abbey lies close to the heart of a rustic hamlet. 
We scrambled up one straggling street where women 
stood knitting in the cottage doorways, and tow- 
headed children stopped tumbling in the gutters to 
stare at us, rambled down the slope of another, wound 
our way through a lane bordered with wild blackberry 
bushes and sweetbrier, crossed a stretch of green 
dotted with myriads of tiny pink and white daisies, 
passed an inn, a beer-garden, a brewery, turned a cor- 
ner, and suddenly found ourselves standing among the 


372 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


ruins of the grand old Abbey of Villers-la-Ville. 

Before us rose a church’s majestic towers covered 
with vines that crept up the crumbling walls, clustered 
in the seams and crevices, and hung in swaying bunches 
of leaf and blossom from the jagged, roofless sum- 
mits. 

To the right spread away row after row, story after 
story, of crumbling casements, through which in sum- 
mer stole caressing breezes, and in midwinter tore, like 
furies unleashed, the hoarse gales from the North 
Sea. 

The dear, friendly, clinging vines covered the 
broken arches, and mosses and grasses, with here and 
there a homely wall-flower and here and there a saucy 
daisy, grew upon the ledges where pious monks once 
rested missals when they prayed in their cells at night. 

We rummaged through a delightful little kitchen 
garden full of bees and butterflies circling lazily in 
the warm, thyme-scented air. Fruit-trees stretched 
their laden branches over the high stone walls. Vines 
covered with fragrant blossoms crept everywhere. 
Birds were drinking from the wreck of a fountain 
that dripped refreshingly. A spotted cow stood knee- 
deep in the lush, cool grass, and a mother goat with 
her kid were nibbling complacently at a bed of sweet 
herbs, as though sweet herbs planted by the hands 
of men dead in the Middle Ages were the proper food 
for goats. 


FETE DE LA DIRECTRICE 373 

We peeped curiously into the old convent brewery, 
still exuding a faint odor of hops, and rambled awe- 
somely through what was left of the once splendid 
banquet-hall, for the Abbey of Villers, besides being a 
monastery-fortress and prison, had been a pleasure re- 
treat much loved of kings. 

In the modest private refectory of the monks the old 
stone reading-desk was still standing, gray and grim, 
and in the stone floor under the long stone tables, as 
in the de Miron home, was a row of softly rounded 
hollows made by the pressure of the monks' naked 
feet. 

No nook or cranny did we girls leave unexplored, 
and for our pains discovered a row of underground 
dungeons, so dark and fearsome with ooze and slimy, 
creeping things, that the bravest among us shrank 
from venturing down the slippery stones leading into 
the interior. 

Peering through the iron-barred windows, we could 
see the iron staples in the wall, to which in those awful 
times were fastened the captive's chains, and we could 
hear the faint splash of water which in the dark ages 
was a rushing torrent, so placed as to drown the cries 
of the unfortunates. 

We found, too, a big cave piled high with horrid 
gray, round, mildewed things, that at first glance we 
thought were skulls, but which turned out to be stones, 
though how they got where they were, and for what 


374 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


purpose, both Madame Van Pelt and Mademoiselle 
Touchard, for all their learning, were puzzled to know. 

And we had a ghostly experience that, while it 
lasted, gave us a whole bookful of delicious chills and 
thrills. 

Suky Sikes, wild-eyed and pale, came flying back 
from some secret expedition of her own, to tell us 
that while investigating an interesting heap of ruins 
between the chapel and the dungeon, in hopes of un- 
earthing something useful to science, she suddenly 
heard the most awful moans and groans. 

“ Pm certain sure there’s the ghost of a murdered 
prisoner in that underground place ! ” Suky excitedly 
gasped. “ Come hear for yourselves ! ” 

Instantly the whole school stampeded after Suky, 
and sure enough, no sooner had we reached the cor- 
ner between the church and the dungeon, when we 
were greeted by the most gruesome moaning and 
groaning. 

The sounds seemed to come from the ground di- 
rectly under our feet, but by careful listening we lo- 
cated them near the basement of the ruined church, 
close beside where a grated window lifted its frown- 
ing arch above the ground. 

In fact, we were soon convinced that the sounds 
came directly from the window, and we now had no 
doubt that we had stumbled across the ghostly retreat 


375 


FETE DE LA DIRECTRICE 

of some long-murdered prisoner, who delighted to 
bring terror to the hearts of the living by his unearthly 
complaints. 

This, though alarming, was entrancing, and a mor- 
bid fascination kept us chained to the ghoulish win- 
dow from whose black interior came horrible, icy- 
cold whiffs of moldering graves. 

We peeped, we poked, we conjectured. We walked 
up and down before it, taking care to circle well out 
of the reach of ghostly arms or the clutch of ghostly 
fingers. We hallooed through the rusty grating, and 
then fled before the hollow echoes of our voices had 
died away. We threw stones at a safe distance and 
shudderingly awaited results as we heard them fall 
clattering on the stone floor of the haunted interior. 

Once we darted off in shrieking terror before a big 
black thing that, with a whirring rush, came from be- 
tween the iron bars. The cause of our fright turned 
out to be nothing more alarming than a strange bird, 
that perched himself in the branches of a neighbor- 
ing tree and croaked his rage at us for disturbing him 
in his hiding-place. 

Finally, after a longer pause than usual, during 
which the heroic resolution to unghost the ghost at 
all hazards had brought us to the top of a flight of 
narrow steps leading into the underground regions, 
the spooky depths below reverberated to a muffled 


376 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


sneeze that sent us — governesses as well as girls — 
tearing away in frenzied haste to the security of the 
open. 

Here, palpitating between hysterical tears and 
laughter, we discussed the situation. 

‘‘ Ghosts don’t sneeze ! ” the intelligent Octavie re- 
marked with a shrewd squinching of her great black 
eyes. 

‘‘ Assuredly not ! ” Renee Dupont agreed. More- 
over, a revenant who sneezes must be well-meaning,” 
she convincingly added. ** It cannot be altogether de- 
void of the human — tiens! ” 

Ah pump 1 ” scoffed Emily Glover, who was still 
panting from her lively scamper to get out of the way. 
“ You don’t catch me afraid of a foreign ghost, or a 
foreign sneeze! Nong! Jammy de lee vee!” 

‘‘Who’s afraid of a ghost?” Roberta Wilcox 
huffed in a big voice as she strode boldly forward, in 
a direction well removed from haunted quarters, be it 
said. “ Chiltonhurt Manor, where we live when papa’s 
at home, is full of the grandest ghosts. Think I’m 
afraid to meet ghosts? Not I ! I’ve slept all alone in 
a great big room at the far end of a big, deserted gal- 
lery that fairly reeked with ghosts ! Haven’t I, Lou ? ” 

“Jumped into a bramble bush and scratched out 
both his eyes,” the madonna-faced Lou softly hummed. 

“ Do as you like, I don’t care, but I’m not going 
to spoil my nice clean boots going down into that 


FETE DE LA DIRECTRICE 


377 


dirty place/’ Minty Maxwell snippered, daintly minc- 
ing away to seat herself on a nice clean boulder to 
write ‘‘ Reflections on a Ruin ” in that nasty little note- 
book of hers. 

'"A Vattaque!^* shouted a chorus of intrepid Bel- 
gians, reinforced by those of the Britishers who de- 
clared themselves afraid of nothing, and armed with 
big sticks and heavy stones, we brave ones tremblingly 
descended the flight of narrow steps. 

At the bottom we found ourselves in a vaulted 
passageway, low, wide, and dark, save for the light 
that came from an arched opening at the far end. 

Toward this, with many a pause, and clinging to- 
gether in shivery huddles, we slowly advanced. We 
reached the opening at last, peered cautiously in over 
one another’s shoulders, and saw a small underground 
chapel surrounded by grated windows through which 
the wild vines twisted themselves and the white light 
of noonday poured in across a rude altar before which 
knelt a little old peasant woman telling her beads. 
Every second or so this devotee would bow her bent 
body to the ground and, beating her shriveled breast, 
would give vent to the moans and groans that, travel- 
ing the length of the vaulted passage and passing out 
through the window behind the stone steps, had 
reached us as ghostly wails. 

Breakfasting in the old inn-garden, when, tradi- 
tion has it, Charles the Bold rested after the chase, 


378 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


running races across the smooth daisy-fields, gather- 
ing wild-flowers, drinking coffee served in the abbey 
refectoire, were among the pleasures of this happy 
fete. 

Claire de Miron never once came near me the whole 
day, but tactfully devoted herself to her small sister 
Ghislaine, while I kept close to the English girls. 

Laurice, soon after we returned from our excursion 
in the soft glow of just-after-sunset dusk, came into 
the grande classe. She was flushed and excited-look- 
ing, and brought with her from the wedding-feast a 
large package of meringues and dragees and fruits 
glacis to distribute among the girls, who devoured 
them appreciatively, while Laurice related what the 
bride wore and how she looked and acted and what 
everybody said and did. 

I waited for neither sweetmeats nor story, but as 
speedily as possible slipped out of the grande classe 
and managed to keep out of it. 

I saw nothing more of Laurice until bedtime, when 
she stopped me at the door of her dortoir to say with 
simple courtesy, ‘‘ You know, of course, that Rosalie 
was married this morning and has gone away on her 
wedding trip.’’ 

I heard the girls talking about it,” I answered 
politely. “ Did you have a pleasant time at the wed- 
ding?” 

‘‘ Very pleasant, thank you,” Laurice graciously re- 


FETE DE LA DIRECTRICE 


379 


turned. Then, with something of her old friendly 
humor, added : “ Claire’s mother was there. Ro- 

salie wrote her a most beautiful letter thanking her for 
her honte to her chere petite Nounou, and in other ways 
managed to ingratiate herself. So you see some good 
came of my visit after all.” 

Then, suddenly remembering, Laurice again became 
freezingly distant, while I, equally embarrassed, icily 
remarked, “ Fm glad everything was so agreeable.” 

‘‘ It was tiresome, after all. I was glad when it 
was over and Rosalie gone ! ” Laurice wearily sighed 
as she turned away. 

Poor Laurice! She now indeed was alone and 
friendless, for her sister’s presence had been at least 
a protection to her, and I think that, in spite of all, 
she could not but feel the pitiful isolation of her posi- 
tion, now that her sister actually was gone and she 
was left to face the future as best she might by her- 
self. 

I would have given worlds at that moment to have 
asked Laurice to tell me about herself. Was she still 
going out to Africa as a governess? Had she received 
any news ? Had she told Claire de Miron her troubles 
and was Claire going to help her stay in her own 
country ? 

But I could say nothing, and Laurice told me noth- 
ing, and we separated with a quiet, Bonne nuit/' 


CHAPTER XXIX 


RECONCILIATION 


AURICE DE CREVIER is going to leave!” 



Subitement I turned from the piano at 
which I was practising in the cabinet vert, to 


see Ghislaine de Miron, who, with those startling 
words, had bounced into the room — eyes big as a 
frightened cat's, curls flying about a red and excited 
face. 

‘‘ Where's my sister Claire? '' she panted, as though 
she had been running in hot haste. 

I seized Ghislaine by her skinny little arm, exclaim- 
ing in a sort of terror : What is that you are say- 

ing? Laurice de Crevier is going to leave? What 
do you mean ? '' 

“ Let go my arm! You hurt! '' Ghislaine squealed, 
wriggling herself free from my excited clutch. 

“ I don’t know anything at all ! '' she whimpered, 
eyeing me resentfully from a safe distance, as she 
rubbed her aching arm, ‘‘ except that Laurice de 
Crevier was called into Madame Van Pelt’s private 
apartments to see a lady, and one of the girls said 
she was going to leave.” 

“ Who is the lady ? ” I darted at the frightened 
child. 


380 


RECONCILIATION 


381 


‘‘ I don’t know anything, I tell you,” Ghislaine 
snarled crossly, as cat-like she edged her way toward 
the door. It’s not her sister. It’s a strange lady 
who never before has been to see her. Suky Sikes 
spied her from the attic window when she was getting 
out of her carriage. Tiens! You can see the car- 
riage now. It’s standing at the front door.” 

And with this Ghislaine, having now reached an 
exit, darted off, probably to inform her sister of the 
news she had just told me. 

I stood upon a stool and peeped through the clear 
upper panes of the window into the street below. 
Yes. There stood the carriage, a large, handsome one 
with two spirited horses and a coachman in fine livery. 
At the carriage window sat a pert-looking maid in 
white cap and apron, staring curiously at the house. 
I had never before seen either maid or coachman. 

Still under the spell of dazed curiosity, I opened 
the door leading into the corridor, and cautiously tip- 
toeing across the polished floor, looked over the rail- 
ing into the marble hallway below. 

By leaning far over I could just glimpse the white 
and gilded doors of Madame Van Pelt’s private recep- 
tion room. As I watched, this door was suddenly 
opened and I caught the faint hum of voices, to which 
I heard Madame Van Pelt laughingly respond, “ I as- 
sure you, my dear madame, you will find the demoi- 
selle satisfactory in every particular.” 


382 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Then I knew that what I feared was true. “The 
young lady is satisfactory in every particular ” could 
mean but one thing. Was not this the usual formula 
for representing a governess to a patron ? The visitor 
then was the friend who had been conducting negotia- 
tions between Laurice and that person in Africa who 
wanted a governess. This friend had come to say 
that the journey must be made at once. 

Laurice was going. I knew it. Perhaps she would 
leave school this very day, within the hour. Maybe 
when the carriage drove away Laurice and her trunk 
would drive away with it. I would not see her when 
I went down to the grande classe. She would not be 
at her place in the refectoire for dinner. She would 
go away without a good-by, to think of me always as 
something better forgotten. 

And I could do nothing. I had not even the small 
comfort of knowing that my poor little remembrance 
was safe where she some day would find it. 

I must be alone to think how to plan some way of 
helping my poor friend. The nearest refuge was the 
dormitory of the little girls, which, being used as a 
sort of passageway from the front to the back of the 
house, was always open. 

I plunged up the stairs, into the dortoir, flung my- 
self down on the nearest bed, — a little uncurtained re- 
cess nearest the door, — and here, with my head buried 


RECONCILIATION 383 

deep in the pillows, gave way to the tears I could not 
control. 

Quite suddenly, it seemed, for I had heard nothing, 
I felt about me the pressure of comforting arms, and 
pushing the hair from my hot eyes, I sat up to see 
looking into mine the face of Laurice — not hard, not 
sad, but all aglow with compassionate sympathy. 

“Oh, Laurice!’’ I cried. “Let us forget every- 
thing and be friends ! ” 

“ Only too gladly ! ” Laurice replied. “ I have been 
too impatient, too intolerant 1 ” she continued, rapidly 
clasping and unclasping her hands with a nervous little 
gesture characteristic of her when moved. “ But it 
made you seem so different from what I thought you 
— from what I wanted you to be.” 

“Of what are you talking?” I asked. “I don’t 
understand. You puzzle me.” 

“ It was not your friendship for Claire that I 
minded,” Laurice went on more quietly to explain. 
“ It was your pretended indifference. That was what 
I could not forget. It made you seem so untrue.” 

“ But my indifference to Claire was not pretended, 
Laurice,” I exclaimed bewildered. 

“ I saw the letters,” Laurice hurriedly interrupted. 
“ Claire gave them to me to read that miserable Sun- 
day in the bosky, the last day I was at her home 
during the Easter holidays. They were the most 


3^4 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


beautiful letters of friendship, charmingly expressed. 
And they were signed by your name.” 

‘‘ Were not those letters written on pink and blue 
and buff paper crisscrossed with red and green and 
purple lines ? ” I asked as a sudden light broke in upon 
my recollection. 

‘‘ I remarked to myself that the American taste in 
letter-paper was strangely bizarre,” was Laurice’s half- 
playful reply. 

‘‘ It was very fashionable paper, and on it one wrote 
in purple, violet-perfumed ink,” I explained. 

“ And there was a great bunch of those letters,” I 
hurried on, “ full of the grandest expressions about 
life and love and such? ” 

Laurice nodded gravely. 

“ Hurrah ! ” I merrily shouted. “ The mystery is 
solved ! Behold Claire de Miron revealed as arch mis- 
chief-maker and fraud ! ” 

And, thereupon, I enlightened Laurice on the sub- 
ject of the little correspondence carried on between 
Claire and me for our mutual improvement in 
French. 

‘‘ Little wonder I was deceived,” Laurice murmured. 

‘‘ You wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t been such a 
jealous old goose,” I saucily retorted. 

“ Oh, Laurice ! ” I exclaimed with a wrath mounting 
into exasperation. ‘‘ How could you believe I would 
write such stuff to anybody — really? You might 


RECONCILIATION 385 

have guessed those high-flown effusions were non- 
sense ! 

Exagere — peut-etre — mais — Laurice stopped 
short with a little shrug tantalizingly French. 

“ But why didn’t you tell me about it first thing and 
give me a chance to explain ? I asked. 

I tried to tell you but you wouldn’t listen,” Laurice 
returned with a gentle smile. 

“ You mean that day in the dortoir when I played 
high tragedy by returning your letters ? ” was my next. 

“Yes. I wanted to make everything clear to you 
then,” Laurice answered. “ Claire made me promise 
never to let you know about showing me the letters, 
but I didn’t think it fair to keep you longer in the 
dark. I told Claire this and begged her to release me 
from my promise.” 

“ She refused? ” 

“ She refused. She said if I betrayed her she would 
never forgive me; that she had shown me those let- 
ters not to do you an injury, but to protect me.” 

“ Hypocrite ! ” I scornfully denounced. “ It was 
about time you had some idea of her real character.” 

“ It did begin to dawn upon me that Claire was very 
selfish to hold me to that stupid promise,” Laurice ad- 
mitted. “ Knowing the friendship between you and 
me, it seemed to me that the generous thing for her to 
have done would have been to have kept those letters 
to herself. 


386 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


“ The whole thing began to look more like malice 
than friendship and I concluded that perhaps I had 
been rash in judging you, Cherie.” 

“You certainly had been!” I interrupted trium- 
phantly to announce. 

“ I finally told Claire that, with or without her con- 
sent, I intended to tell you the whole story,” Laurice 
concluded. 

“ What a fearful moment for Claire de Miron with 
that colossal fraud on her conscience ! ” I spitefully ob- 
served. 

“ There was a scene,” Laurice said. “ I never 
dreamed the smiling Claire could show so ugly a 
temper. She was furious when she saw I was not to 
be moved from my purpose. Then suddenly she 
changed her tactics and warned me that she would 
deny all. So we parted, and I do not think we have 
spoken six words to each other since.” 

“ Laurice, did you ever tell Claire that you were 
going out as a governess to Africa? ” I at last put the 
question that so long had been troubling me. 

“ Never ! ” was Laurice’s terse and emphatic reply. 
“ Strange to say, I never felt the slightest inclination 
to give Claire my confidence.” 

“ And all the while Tve been imagining that she was 
nobly befriending you, and that you wouldn^t have to 
go to that horrid old Africa!” I forlornly confessed. 

“ Oh, Cherie ! ” Laurice here exclaimed with a sud- 


RECONCILIATION 


387 


denness that made me jump. Fve been forgetting 
something wonderfully important ! Guess, Cherie, 
who has come to see me ! Guess who’s down-stairs ! ” 
‘‘ You are going to leave ! ” I cried out, as the re- 
membrance of the sorrowful present swept over me. 

‘‘ Who said I was going to leave ? ” 

‘‘ Ghislaine de Miron,” I answered. “ She heard it 
from one of the girls to whom you told it.” 

‘‘ Ah, oui! ” Laurice returned. ‘‘ On my way to the 
petit salon Minette de Laurier met me and asked me 
who had come to see me, and if I was going to leave. 
I called back, 'Oui! Non!' perhaps in a bewildered 
sort of way, for the truth was I thought my visitor 
was the lady arranging for me to go to the Congo, and 
I didn’t know what to answer.” 

‘‘ And isn’t it the African lady? ” I asked, surprised. 

Indeed, it is not ! ” Laurice almost shouted, with 
a ring of joy in her voice that filled me with astonish- 
ment. It is somebody quite different. But you 
never could guess and I’m not going to make you try,, 
for I can’t keep my news another minute. It's god- 
mother! " 

" You don’t mean your godmother’s come and that 
everything between you is as it used to be ! ” I gasped, 
feeling myself turn white under a rush of surprise, ap- 
prehension, and joy. 

Marraine is in this house at this very moment, and 
she and I are united, never again to be parted ! ” 


388 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Laurice replied, cheeks glowing and eyes delightedly 
dancing. 

‘‘ And don’t I know who to thank for my good for- 
tune ! ” she continued, looking at me with a radiance 
that fairly seemed to give off sparks. “ I have that 
precious letter here,” — pointing to the bosom of her 
dress, — “ and I shall never give it up while I have 
breath in my body ! ” 

Oh, Cherie ! ” Laurice added, with a regretful 
droop in her happy voice. ‘‘To think that while I was 
angry with you, you were doing this noble thing for 
me ! I want you to tell me when you did it, and how, 
and everything about it ! ” 

“ And I want you to tell me when your godmother 
got here, and how, and everything about it ! ” I re- 
taliated in high exhilaration of spirits. 

“ But we mustn’t talk now,” I added in an attempt 
at being heroically unselfish. “ You must go back to 
your godmother. She will wonder what has hap- 
pened. 

“ Go, go ! ” I urged, giving Laurice a playful little 
push. “ I feel ashamed to have kept you so long.” 

“ But you are coming, too,” was Laur ice’s startling 
rejoinder. “ I came on purpose to get you. Madame 
Van Pelt has given permission and marraine is wild to 
see you.” 

“ But a marchioness ! ” I nervously protested. “ I 
never in my life met a marchioness and I’m sure I 


RECONCILIATION 


389 


shouldn’t know how to behave before one. Tell me, 
Laurice, how must I act? Must I make a court bow 
and say ‘ Your Grace,’ or ‘ Your Highness,’ or what? 
I shall make dreadful blunders I know. I never shall 
have the courage to meet a real marchioness — and in 
this dress,” I added with a rueful glance at my 
rumpled appearance. 

“ Take your courage in both hands, then, for meet 
marraine you must ! ” Laurice ordered, pulling me to 
my feet, and with swift, deft hands smoothing and 
twisting me into presentable shape. 

“ Sherida ! ” Laurice suddenly spoke with grave 
tenderness just before we started down-stairs. “ You 
remember the day you saw me praying in the old 
cathedral of Ste. Gudule? Do you know for what I 
was praying? ” 

“ For something that you wanted very much, 
Laurice,” was my grave reply. 

‘‘ I was asking God to give marraine back to me.” 

“ And I prayed God to answer your prayer.” 

“ He answered it, Sherida — through you.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


I MEET GODMOTHER 

M y heart was leaping and panting like a captured 
bird when at last we reached the door of 
the little reception-room and Laurice turned 
the knob. 

“ Here she is, marraine ! Here's my Cherie ! " I 
heard Laurice exclaim as she brushed aside the heavy 
portiere, and in a blur of white light from the window 
behind I saw standing a portly blur of black, and the 
next I knew I felt myself pressed to a motherly bosom 
and kissed several times warmly on each cheek, while 
the kindest of voices exclaimed : So you are the 

chere demoiselle to whom my little girl and I owe so 
much ! We both have a great deal to thank you for — 
a very great deal, my dear." 

And holding me off at arm's length, the better to 
examine me, the portly personage added, with a queer 
little crack of a laugh, like that of a voice broken by 
age : “ A charming young girl, truly ! Come, let us 

sit down and get better acquainted." 

And drawing Laurice to her side by one hand and 
me by the other, godmother seated herself on the big 
velvet chaise longue, and then for the first time I had 
390 



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I MEET GODMOTHER 


391 


an opportunity to see what manner of person she was. 

She was no ethereal sprite, like the godmother of 
fairy-tales, but was stout and imposing of figure, as 
an elderly marchioness should be, to my mind, and 
she had a nobly proportioned face framed in wavy 
tresses of grayish blue-black hair. 

Her eyes were large and lustrous and dark like 
Laurice’s, her nose was the high, curved nose of the 
French patrician, and her thin, flexible lips blended de- 
lightfully in an expression of shrewdness, kindliness, 
and humor. 

Godmother, as plainly was to be seen, was no milk- 
and-water angel, no saint ripe for transportation to 
paradise, no meek spirit with a halo of martyrdom 
about her head. She was rather, I should judge, an 
imperious old dame accustomed to rule with a high 
hand and to be obeyed. 

But I felt that she was good and kind and lovable 
withal, and I could see that she was passionately at- 
tached to Laurice, for she held her hand closely and 
seemed unable to take her eyes from her face. 

She was dressed in something black and soft and 
silky, covered by a long velvet coat trimmed richly with 
lace, her velvet bonnet bristled with ostrich tips, and 
instead of tying the broad, satin ribbons in a fashion- 
able bow under her plump chin, she let the loose ends 
hang free over her shoulders in a way very becoming 
to her negligee style. 


392 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


Altogether, godmother was everything a highborn 
marchioness should be, as different from the fashion- 
plate Rosalie as is silvery moonlight from the garish 
light of noonday, and she was, in my opinion, the very 
ideal of the benevolent godmother. 

She had a funny little trick of twitching those hu- 
morously thin lips of hers, and had a foolish little 
habit of constantly dropping her handkerchief, or her 
purse, or fan, which articles Laurice would restore to 
her with an admonitory, ‘‘ Godmother, you are so care- 
less ! ’’ which reproof godmother would accept with a 
meek: “Yes, my dear, I know I am. I’m getting 
old and need you to be hands and eyes and feet to 
me. 

“You must have thought me a dreadful old woman, 
my dear,” — she said, turning to me when we were all 
comfortably settled, — “ not to have answered your 
beautiful letter immediately, but you will understand 
when I have explained,” she added, giving my hand a 
confiding little pat. 

“ I have been in the habit for several years of passing 
the Lenten season with the good sisters in an old con- 
vent close to my estates in Hungary,” she continued, 
“and before returning home after Easter I always 
make my poor people a visit. 

“ This takes me some little time, as there is a 
great deal to be seen to, and to listen to, and to do — 
this year more than usual, because there have been 


I MEET GODMOTHER 


393 

floods, and my people were in great trouble with their 
homes and farming implements washed away. 

'' So I stayed with them, for, as I said to myself, 
* it is better for me to remain here where I can do 
some good than to return to my big, empty house in 
Paris, where I have only the servants to welcome me ’ 
— for since my little Nounou here went away from me 
I have found my home a desolate place.” 

*'Panvre marraine!^* Laurice murmured compassion- 
ately, as she tenderly patted and kissed godmother’s 
cheek. I never again shall leave you.” 

** For which I have to thank this chhe demoiselle,'^ 
godmother returned, beaming upon me with a radiant 
smile. 

Plainly she was immensely flattered by her god- 
child’s affectionate attentions and made no pretense 
of hiding it. 

“ But, as I was going to say,” the old lady proceeded, 

I never have my mail sent to me while I am away, 
for when I am in the convent I am there for the pur- 
pose of fixing my mind wholly upon spiritual matters 
and do not wish to be disturbed by worldly affairs; 
and when I am traveling on my estates, I do not know 
where I shall be from day to day, nor when I shall 
return, so my correspondence waits for me until I get 
back to Paris. 

I arrived there yesterday evening,” the old lady 
said in conclusion, “ and there found your letter. You 


394 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


may imagine my emotions after reading it to discover 
how many weeks it had been waiting for me. I was 
distracted, thinking that perhaps my poor child al- 
ready had gone to that pestilential Afrique, but I said 
to myself, ‘ I will not wait to send telegrams or let- 
ters, but will go myself and find out.’ I took the first 
train I could catch. And here I am ! ” 

‘‘ And found me safe and sound, godmother,” 
Laurice laughed with a loving glance in her god- 
mother’s face. 

** Ah, ma petite Nounou, you have done wrong, very 
wrong, to keep me in the dark all this time ! But for 
your devoted young friend here I should have known 
nothing. Why did you not write ? ” 

** Rosalie wrote and you sent back her letter un- 
opened,” Laurice replied with a roguish smile. 

Rosalie ! ” the old lady contemptuously scoffed. 
“ I do not correspond with Rosalie. I want none of 
her impudent messages.” 

‘‘ Ah, but how did you know that she had not writ- 
ten to tell you I was ill, dying, dead ? ” Laurice mis- 
chievously suggested. 

''Non! mais, non!'' godmother repudiated with a 
shrewd shake of the head. ‘‘ I have friends enough in 
Paris to keep me posted a[bout your doings there. Be- 
sides,” she added with her queer little croak of a laugh, 
“if you had been dead, my darling, that fraud of a 
Rosalie would have had mourning an inch deep on her 


I MEET GODMOTHER 


395 

envelope. I do not know Rosalie Laurent all these 
years for nothing.” 

“But why didn’t you yourself write, marraine?^’ 
Laurice asked with the pert air of a spoiled child. “ I 
thought you were angry with me and I dared not 
write, but if you had written to say that you had for- 
given me and wanted me back, I am sure I should have 
come.” 

“ But why should I have written, mon enfant?^* the 
old lady returned. “ You made your choice of your 
own free will and I thought you were happy in it. 
After my first burst of anger had all passed, and noth- 
ing was left but the disappointment and sorrow of los- 
ing you, I began to think that perhaps I had not the 
right to take you away from the gay world you ap- 
peared to love so well, to bring you to live with a dull 
old woman like myself.” 

“ Oh, marraine ! ” Laurice exclaimed as she passed 
her cheek caressingly against the old lady’s wrinkled 
hand. “ How could you have thought that ! You 
know I never cared for worldly pleasures.” 

“ I heard a great deal about the gay doings of 
Rosalie,” godmother replied, “ and how was I to know 
that you did not enjoy gadding about as much as she 
did? So I said to myself, * Since the child is happy 
why should I disturb her ? ’ 

“ I tried very hard not to be selfish, ma petite 
Nounou, but I am not a saint, my dear. I longed for 


396 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


you and missed you shockingly, and I do not think I 
ever quite got over the hurt of thinking that you pre- 
ferred that miserable fraud of a Rosalie to your poor 
old marraine.’’ 

'‘But you don’t think that now? Tell me, god- 
mother, you don’t think that now ? ” Laurice entreat- 
ingly asked. 

“ Not now, my darling,” godmother reassuringly 
answered with an affectionate smile of her twitching 
lips. “ Not since I received that letter from this dear 
young friend of yours. If I had known when you 
were in Paris what I know now, not ten thousand 
Rosalies could have prevented me from coming to take 
you away by right of the authority which the Holy 
Church gives all godmothers over their godchildren. 

“You see, my dear, Laurice is the only child I ever 
had,” the old lady turned to me to explain. “ She is 
named for me, — Laure, — and from the time she was 
put into my arms a tiny babe until three years ago, 
bonne maman, as she often calls me, was first.” 

“ As she always has been,” Laurice interrupted. 

“ Don’t you see, bonne maman,” Laurice continued 
with sweet earnestness, “ that everything has just been 
a misunderstanding, a dreadful mistake? ” 

“ It is well for Rosalie Laurent that she is married 
and well out of my reach, or I should call her to ac- 
count for this little mistake in a way she would long 
remember,” godmother said in high indignation. 


I MEET GODMOTHER 


397 


‘‘ What has she done, that stepsister of yours, that 
you are so thin and pale and troubled-looking?^’ she 
continued, surveying Laurice’s slim length with a dis- 
approving eye. “ You have slaved and scrimped and 
struggled, I warrant, to let that vain minx wear fine 
clothes and play the great lady. 

“ Oh, you needn’t contradict me ! ” the old lady 
snapped with a malicious little cackle. “ Don’t I know 
you of old, you foolish child, always sacrificing your- 
self for some one or other. Well, I’ve come, fortu- 
nately, to put a stop to all nonsense in future,” god- 
mother said in conclusion. You will be my charge 
henceforth, and we will begin from this very minute 
to make some big changes.” 

** Oh, madame, you won’t take her away from school, 
will you ? ” I asked, forgetting all my timidity to seize 
this opportunity of voicing the fear that had been tor- 
menting me ever since the interview had begun. 

That is for Laurice to decide,” godmother an- 
swered. “ I want her to do only what will make her 
happy.” 

Laurice looked from godmother to me, and back 
again, in a most distressing state of indecision. Torn 
as she was between two strong affections, the question 
seemed impossible for her to decide. Godmother’s 
generous heart decided it for her. 

‘‘ You will remain at school,” she announced with an 
imperious authority that I am sure was resented by 


398 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


neither Laurice nor me. I should be a very selfish 
old woman to want to separate you from your devoted 
young friend here for the few weeks left to you to be 
together.” 

“ But you, bonne maman ! How can I let you go 
when I have only just found you ! ” Laurice cried out 
in a quandary between joy and distress. 

You are not going to let me go,” this truly old 
fairy godmother chuckled. Do you think that, now 
I have you safe, that I will take any risks of that 
Rosalie coming back to bewitch you from me with her 
tricks ! No, no ! It is my intention to return to Paris 
immediately, settle my affairs there, come back to Brus- 
sels, and, with my maid, establish myself in some com- 
fortable hotel until your school closes and I can take 
you away with me.” 

‘‘Oh, you precious old bonne maman! You have 
made me the happiest girl in the world I ” Laurice cried, 
throwing herself into her godmother’s arms and hug- 
ging her with an ardor that made the old lady laugh- 
ingly protest, while I pressed the dear old hands again 
and again, longing, yet not daring, to kiss them in the 
exuberance of my gratitude. 

Then we all fell to talking about all sorts of pleas- 
ant things — where godmother would live when she 
came back to Brussels, and what day would be the best 
one for Laurice to be taken out and fitted up with a 


I MEET GODMOTHER 


399 

wardrobe in keeping with the goddaughter of a wealthy 
and aristocratic old marchioness. 

In the midst of this delightful conversation I finally 
plucked up courage to ask, ‘‘Did you think it best, 
Madame la Marquise, to tell Madame Van Pelt that I 
had written to you ? ’’ 

“No, my dear; I kept your little secret,'' the old 
lady answered, kindly patting my hand. “ When I ar- 
rived here I said simply, ‘ I am la Marquise de 
Kinthoent and I have come to see my godchild. Made- 
moiselle Laurice de Crevier.' That was all, my dear^ 
and my godchild was sent to me without question." 

“ They did not tell me it was you, godmother," 
Laurice explained. ‘‘ I was told that a lady wished 
to see me in the private reception-room. Had I known 
who that lady was, I should have come much faster." 

“ I would not let them send my name. I was afraid 
of startling you," the godmother replied. 

“ I was startled enough when I saw you, and when 
I read this letter," Laurice returned, pressing her hand 
against her bosom where the letter lay. 

As she spoke, the door opened and into the room 
walked Madame Van Pelt. 

“ And how did you find the young lady, Madame la 
Marquise ? " she asked with a merry glance toward 
me. 

“ As you said, madame, — satisfactory in every par- 


400 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


ticular/^ Madame la Marquise laughed, as I had heard 
Madame Van Pelt laugh when she spoke these same 
words. 

Then quite suddenly I left my place on the sofa and 
went straight up to Madame Van Pelt before she had 
time to seat herself, — for when I make up my mind 
to do an unpleasant thing because I think it is right, I 
never stop to think about it, — and I then and there 
told her the whole history of the letter, how I had 
written it and posted it, and everything about it from 
beginning to end. 

I didnT try to excuse myself because I couldn’t, 
and I didn’t say I was sorry because I wasn’t. But 
I did say that I knew I had done wrong and regretted 
being obliged to do it, and I begged her pardon for it 
and said I was ready to bear whatever penalty she saw 
fit to inflict as the price of my misdemeanor. 

You see, I was so happy over the good fortune I 
was the means of bringing to Laurice that I was quite 
reckless about what might happen to me. 

Madame Van Pelt looked grave enough when I had 
finished, very grave indeed, for I had been guilty of a 
most serious infringement of the rules, and I suppose 
between that and the promptings of her heart, which 
always leaned toward tenderness, she didn’t know what 
to do. 

But Madame la Marquise, who had been a keen and 
interested spectator of this little scene, took matters 


I MEET GODMOTHER 


401 


into her own hands by saying, “ A free and full con- 
fession, madame la directrice, deserves a free and full 
pardon/' 

And Laurice begged la directrice to remember the 
good I had done and the happiness I had brought to 
her and godmother. 

So Madame Van Pelt threw up her hands with a 
little laugh, saying, ‘‘ I am conquered ! " 

This ended the matter, and this is the way I escaped 
the penalty of my sin. 

“ But I must ask Mademoiselle Sherida,” Madame 
Van Pelt added (madame la directrice never used my 
frivolous nickname), ‘‘not to mention this little mat- 
ter to the school. You understand, Madame la Mar- 
quise," she smilingly explained to the smiling god- 
mother, “ that all young ladies have not the judgment 
and the discretion of this young lady." 

“ Nor the motive," Laurice annexed, bestowing upon 
me a glance overbrimming with affection, while the 
dear old godmother nodded approval and beamed upon 
us both, and even Madame Van Pelt looked wonder- 
fully pleased. 

All then were invited to a little dejeuner d la four- 
chette in Madame Van Pelt’s private dining-room, 
which was served to us on the charming little round 
table of Flemish oak laid with fine Flemish linen and 
porcelain of Andennes, that Madame Van Pelt told us 
had been a wedding present forty years before. 


402 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


And such good things as we had to eat — poulef 
saute, pommes de terre frites, salade de concomhres, 
omelette aux confiture, and the various other delec- 
tables unknown to the pensionnat refectoire. 

After dejeuner was over, and Claudine, the pretty 
maid, had had hers, and the magnificent hired cocker 
had come back from his, noonday was long passed and 
godmother very sensibly suggested that if she was to 
reach Paris at a reasonable hour that night, it would 
be well to catch the next train. 

‘‘ I shall be in Brussels again by the end of the 
week,’" were godmother’s parting words, and with the 
kind permission of madame la directrice I should like 
to have you two young ladies spend Sunday with me 
at my hotel.” 

The Belgian girls accepted the advent of Laur ice’s 
godmother without comment. To their foreign un- 
derstanding it was perfectly simple and natural that 
when one of a young girl’s guardians stepped out an- 
other stepped in. And who more properly than la 
marraine? That she, in this case, should be a mar- 
chioness caused not a ripple among these scions of 
noble blood. 

‘‘ Ah pump ! A foreign marchioness ! What’s that 
to brag about ! ” Emily Glover rudely blustered in her 
rumbling contralto. 

“ The only real nobility is the English,” was Roberta 
Wilcox’s arrogant observation. 


I MEET GODMOTHER 


403 


Believe me or not, as you please, but there’s no 
nobility on earth to compare to the nobility of Ireland 
— believe me or not, as you please,” Pat Mack ag- 
gressively contradicted. 

And so infuriated was the English Emily by this 
daring remark, that in whipping out her spectacles to 
make crossed eyes, they were dashed to the ground 
and shivered into splinters, which awful catastrophe 
caused her to turn upon Pat with a thunderous, ‘‘ There 
now, Pat Mack, see what you’ve done ! ” 

As soon as dinner was over the evening of this 
most eventful day, and the girls had rushed whoop- 
ing to the terrace, I went post-haste in search of Claire 
de Miron. 

I found her in the grande classe, which, by good for- 
tune for my purpose, happened at that moment to be 
empty. Claire stood with her back to the door, stoop- 
ing over her desk and holding up the lid with one 
shoulder while she searched for what she wanted. 

Claire de Miron ! ” I sharply exclaimed, without 
another warning of my presence, for the errand that 
brought me did not incline me to mercy. Where are 
those letters I wrote to you and that you read to 
Laurice de Crevier ? I want you to return every single 
one of them this instant ! ” 

A more abjectedly cowed face than Claire de Miron 
turned to me over her shoulder under cover of the 
desk-lid I hope I never may see again. 


404 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


I can’t give back those letters ; I haven’t them,” 
she uttered in a voice which, though nervously husky, 
still showed signs of an ugly defiance. 

'' Then get them ! ” I commanded, advancing in a 
way that made Claire hastily drop the desk-lid and step 
back several paces. I believe she was afraid I was 
going to shake her, and I believe I easily could have 
done it, so immeasurably did I seem to myself to tower 
above her, miserable and shrunken as she was with 
guilt. 

‘‘ Get those letters ! ” I angrily repeated. 

‘‘ I can’t ! I haven’t them, I tell you ! ” Claire re- 
plied, boldly standing her ground, though her face was 
gray as the sheet of drab blotting-paper upon which 
her hand rested, and she dared not lift her eyes to 
mine. 

‘‘ They’re burned ! I burned them the day Laurice 
de Crevier read them,” she informed me, straighten- 
ing herself up and turning upon me with insolent de- 
fiance, as ignoble things turn when brought to bay. 

I glared at her until her impertinent eyes dropped. 
But I believed she told the truth. 

“ You did well to burn them,” I finally spoke. 
** Why didn’t you burn them long ago before you had 
a chance to play two friends this despicable trick? ” 

I had come to deliver myself of a magnificent speech 
intended to lash Claire’s miserable soul to shreds, but 
before I had time to say the first word, to my intense 


I MEET GODMOTHER 


405 


dismay she burst into tears, crying out peevishly: 

It’s perfectly disgraceful the way you and Laurice 
de Crevier talk to me — all on account of a stupid 
joke. I brought out those letters to burn, and read 
them first to Laurice for a bit of fun, but instead of 
laughing over them, as I expected, she took them se- 
riously, and then she had to tell you, and you act high 
tragedy. It’s simply ridiculous and I won’t stand any 
more of it ! ” 

So overcome was I by this amazing exhibition of 
deceit and effrontery that I was unable to utter a word 
in protest, and Claire, doubtless interpreting my silence 
as defeat, immediately proceeded to make a further 
display of the pettiness of her character. 

“ I never met two such ungrateful creatures as you 
and Laurice de Crevier,” she screamed in a thin, shaky 
treble, like that of a whining child. “ You are not 
even decently polite — treating me in this way after 
all my kindness to you both, sharing my hampers with 
you, inviting you to my house, making des amies in- 
times of you.” 

But I was too disgusted to listen to more of this 
petty tirade, and, turning on my heel, I left her to 
rant to the walls and went in search of Laurice. 

I found her walking up and down in the old pear 
orchard and wondering why I hadn’t come, for I had 
told her nothing of my intention to annihilate Claire. 

‘‘ I just have been giving Claire de Miron a piece 


4o6 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


of my mind — or rather trying to/' I explained as I 
ran to join her. It appears from what she tells me 
that she has been shamefully misunderstood by you tak- 
ing those letters seriously. She says she read them to 
you as an innocent joke, thinking you would laugh over 
them." 

“ We’ll laugh over her little joke together, Cherie," 
Laurice replied, as she threw her arm about me girl- 
fashion. But we’ll take good care that she plays 
no more of the same kind on us again." 

When we took our places for evening study in the 
grande classe, there was Claire already seated, com- 
posed as though nothing had happened, and smiling 
in her old self-assured, self-satisfied, serene way, ex- 
actly as she always had smiled. She actually had the 
temerity to smile at me, and, after a moment, to lean 
over Laurice’s lap in the friendliest manner, to ask 
me in her most dulcet tones for the loan of my pen- 
knife. 

Her air said plainly : “ I do this to show you that 
I bear you no ill-will. You have treated me out- 
rageously, but one with so good and noble a heart as 
I have cannot be unforgiving. You are not worthy 
of my friendship, but I am ready to let bygones be by- 
gones and take you back once more into my favor. 
Poor child ! It is not your fault that you are so un- 
like me ! " 

I, of course, lent the penknife, but I was inclined 


I MEET GODMOTHER 


407 


to be nettled by Claire’s patronizing attitude, until 
Laurice humorously remarked, ‘‘ We should admire 
Claire’s diplomatic skill in so neatly extricating herself 
from a difficult position.” 


CHAPTER XXXI 


FATE DECIDES 

W HO was to receive the first prize for composi- 
tion, Laurice de Crevier or Claire de 
Miron? This now was the question on 
everybody's lips. 

The star prize of the Premier Cours, outside of the 
one for excellence that belonged to the school, was the 
beautiful gold medal presented yearly by Madame Van 
Pelt for literature and composition. 

The contestants for this were Laurice and Claire, 
for neither Octavie de Beauchemin nor Renee Dupont 
stood well in these studies, and I, by reason of enter- 
ing the class so recently, was hors de combat. 

School closed in August with a big concert and a 
grand distribution of rewards of merite, and as the 
momentous day approached, interest became more and 
more concentrated upon who was to receive the great 
prize of the First Course, Laurice or Claire. 

Claire composed charming little effusions about des 
fleurs, des oiseaux, des ruisseaux chantants, and wrote 
them daintily in the daintiest manner, and Laurice ex- 
pressed brilliant thoughts brilliantly, but scratched in 
an abominable scrawl, sarcastically compared by our 
408 


FATE DECIDES 


409 

maitre de litterature to spiders’ legs and hieroglyphics 
of ink-drenched flies. 

Laurice’s compositions generally were considered 
the finer, but Claire had kept her high average for ap- 
plication, and averages counted in competing for 
prizes. 

‘‘To tell you the truth, Cherie, I hope Claire will 
get it,” Laurice confided to me after hearing a weari- 
some discussion between the girls that nearly had be- 
come a general quarrel. 

“ I do, too,” I returned with sincere emphasis. 
“ You could stand the disappointment, Laurice, but 
Claire takes these things so hard.” 

“ She’s sure to get the prize for excellence, isn’t 
she ? ” Laurice asked. 

“ Absolutely sure,” I answered. “ And she deserves 
it. But,” I laughingly added, “ it’s a little peculiarity 
of Claire de Miron’s to want most the things there is 
some doubt of her getting. 

“ All humbug aside, Laurice,” I finally confessed, 
“ I want you to have that first prize — and nobody 
else/' 

“ Godmother would be very proud of me,” Laurice 
laughed in answer. 

Godmother came back as she had promised. And 
then what happy times for Laurice ! And for me, too, 
for Madame Van Pelt let me share many of the pleas- 
ures provided by this wonderful godmother. 


410 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


We had long drives to the Bois at the fashionable 
hour when the grandees of the town went jingling by 
in their crested carriages. We were nobly dined and 
feted at the fine hotel where godmother had taken up 
her abode. We attended fairs and concerts patronized 
by royalty, where we met countesses and duchesses and 
baronesses to make one dizzy, and once — oh, proud 
and joyous occasion! — by right of being in company 
so distinguished I received a smiling bow from the 
beautiful mother of the wistful-faced little boy I used 
to meet driving down the Avenue Louise to the Bois, 
and who stood next to the queen in rank. 

Another great event: Laurice and I, dressed in 
white a la jeune Ulle, with flowers in our braided hair, 
and godmother smiling in the background, sat in the 
front row of a gorgeously gilded opera-bpx in the 
splendid opera-house of Brussels, to hear the great 
Patti sing one of her famous roles. 

But the gladdest of all glad things that happened 
after godmother came, was the change in Laurice. 

In time so short that it seemed miraculous, she was 
transformed from the morbid, sensitive, secretive 
Laurice I first had known, into something so bright 
and winsome, so full of merry talk and light-hearted 
laughter, that all the girls remarked it and wondered 
what had brought it about. 

Becoming clothes, too, made a difference, for god- 
mother’s first care, after she got herself settled, was 


FATE DECIDES 


41 1 

to take Laurice to one of the grand costumers in 
Montagne de la Cour and have her fitted out in most 
lavish style. 

“ She is beautiful! ’’ I exclaimed out of the depths 
of enthusiastic admiration, when for the first time I 
saw her in a costume of black grenadine over a shim- 
mering apple-green silk, and wearing a Frenchy hat 
trimmed with a rose-colored plume that curled on her 
slim, brown neck and against her dark hair like a be- 
witching flower. 

The English girls to whom I made this admiring 
remark refused to admit Laurice beautiful, but granted 
that she had very distinguished manners and a strik- 
ingly intelligent face. 

“For a foreigner,” they were careful to modify 
their praise. 

Of course one of the first things I told Laurice about 
was the money my mother had sent her, and of course 
Laurice immediately sat down and wrote back a let- 
ter that fairly glowed with the most beautiful French 
expressions of reconnaissance and appreciation. 

I was careful to enclose with this a translation, for 
I did not propose that my mother should lose a word 
of the precious letter. 

What to do with the money troubled us a great deal 
at first. Laurice didn’t need it now. How thankful 
we both were for that! I didn’t want it. And to 
send it back was quite out of the question, for I knew 


412 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


that my mother once having given it, the money was 
mine to do as I pleased with. 

So in our dilemma Laurice and I went to Madame 
Van Pelt, who, after hearing our story, and upon my 
emphatic assertion that the money was absolutely and 
unreservedly mine, suggested that, in her opinion, the 
best use we could make of it would be to entrust it to 
her for her pauvres de Noel. 

Five hundred francs! Think of the shawls and 
petticoats, and cakes, and candies, and other good 
things to eat, that could be bought with five hundred 
francs ! 

So Laurice and I left the money with Madame Van 
Pelt and went on our way rejoicing to know that long 
after we were gone, and perhaps forgotten, the poor 
mothers and little children of Madame Van Pelt’s 
Christmas family would owe to it many a Christmas 
of comfort and good cheer. 

Laurice took so kindly to the accessories of wealth 
— the fine clothes, the luxuries, the grand people — 
that I felt more admiration than ever for the strength 
of character that made her bear her misfortunes so 
bravely. 

“ Is your godmother very rich ? ” I one day asked 
her. 

“ She is one of the richest women in France, 
Laurice replied. 

And will she leave everything to you ? ” 


FATE DECIDES 


413 


** She has no one in the world but me,” Laurice 
answered, adding laughingly : “ But what makes you 

so curious, Cherie? You are the last one I should sus- 
pect of being mercenary.” 

‘‘ Oh, I like to think of you as awfully rich ! ” I re- 
turned. It’s becoming to you. And then,” I con- 
tinued, “ I’m mean and spiteful, and I cannot help being 
glad when I think of the surprise of your sister Rosalie 
and the disgust of Claire de Miron. I’m so glad to 
see you where you belong that I don’t know what to 
do!” 

One need not think from this remark that I bore 
Claire the slightest ill-will. On the contrary, I pitied 
her. It was truly painful to me to see her hesitate 
about speaking to Laurice and me, and slink out of 
our way when she accidentally ran across us together, 
for in this attitude of crestfallen meekness I saw the 
genuine hurt of wounded vanity and mortified defeat. 

One day when I saw her poring over her books in 
the grande classe, when the girls had been sent into 
the garden for Madame Van Pelt’s pet petit tour dans 
I' air frais, I was so overcome by the pity of it all that 
I went to her and asked her to come and walk with 
Laurice and me. 

You are very good, bien gentille, Cherie,” she said 
with so much grateful effusion that I felt embarrassed. 

But I must stay here to study,” she explained. “ I 
must work hard to try to win the big prize. It would 


414 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


give grand plaisir to mes chers parents. But I thank 
you, Cherie/’ 

And as Claire turned away I saw that her eyes were 
full of tears. 

Poor Claire ! Her heart, after all, was not entirely 
bad. 

Perhaps one reason why Claire seemed so much bet- 
ter these days of school was because she was so soon 
to be married. 

She herself had not told me of this, but she had not 
contradicted the report that Ghislaine was constantly 
circulating about the wonderful preparations going on 
at the St. Jean de Miron home, as well as at the castle 
on the hill, for Claire, six weeks after leaving school, 
was going to marry the Count Henri Van der Velde, 
and then would be the grandest lady the whole country 
round. 

So much sweeter had Claire become that, were it 
not for Laurice, I should have been sincerely delighted 
to have her win that much-desired first prize. 

Fate, however, decided the matter. 

Monsieur Fiersage, our maitre de litterature, was a 
character. He was a Mephistopheles in wrinkled 
brick-dust yellow, and he never corrected us except 
through the medium of irony and contempt. 

To faults he was merciless, to the stupidity that 
springs from idleness he was relentless, but the sharp- 


FATE DECIDES 


415 

est arrows of his caustic speech were directed against 
trickery and deception. 

We were preparing for our last legpn de litterature. 
Our declamation for this was a selection from 
“ Athalie/' chosen for us by our maitre at the lesson 
preceding. 

I was sure of my lines, and having half an hour to 
spare, I got my music and was leaving the grande 
classe in search of a practice-piano, when Octavie de 
Beauchemin and Renee Dupont called me back to say 
with the engaging politeness these Belgian girls knew 
so well how to assume on occasion: “If Monsieur 
Fiersage calls upon you first to recite, Cherie, would 
you have the gentillesse to stop here ? '' — indicating a 
line that cut the selection exactly in half. “ That’s all 
we’ve been able to study this hot weather. And so 
many other devoirs besides ! And since you are 
going up-stairs,” Octavie smilingly added, “ kindly 
avoir la bonte to inform Laurice de Crevier and Claire 
de Miron of our little arrangement pour la recitation 
d'Athelie. Merci heaucoup, Cherie ! ” the pair cheerily 
called. 

I nodded acquiescence to their plan and ran up-stairs 
to Laurice. She was in the cabinet noir plodding 
through a Clementini sonata, for, governess or no gov- 
erness, she was still grimly determined to play. 

“ Oh, those two idle good-for-nothings ! ” Laurice 


4i6 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


laughed when I gave her my message. ‘‘ They have 
spent the entire morning writing nonsense in each 
other’s autograph albums! But we won’t refuse to 
help them out.” 

I then started to go to the cabinet vert to tell Claire, 
when Laurice asked me to play over the Clementini 
sonata. 

“ I want to surprise godmother,” she said. “ She 
doesn’t think I know a note of music.” 

Between this and our chitchatting — for Laurice and 
I always had oceans to say to each other — I thought 
no more of Claire until the class bell rang, when, with 
a startled “Mercy me! I’ve forgotten Claire!” I 
jumped up and galloped full speed to the cabinet vert. 

It was empty. But the door leading into the salon 
corridor was open, and, peering over the banister of the 
sacred front stairs, I saw Claire, with rapid steps, cross- 
ing the marble pavement in the direction of Madame 
Van Pelt’s private bureau. 

By the time I reached the salle de professeur by the 
roundabout way of the back stairs, I found everybody 
in their places and Monsieur Fiersage seated at the 
head of the long table, bony chin on bony arms folded 
high across his hollow chest, in his usual attitude of 
leering readiness to begin operations. 

I was desperate, for all hope of communicating with 
Claire was now at an e‘nd. She sat on the opposite 
side of the table, close to the professor’s left elbow. 


FATE DECIDES 


417 


To whisper across or slip a note to her without being 
seen by our maitre's vigilant little red eye was an im- 
possibility. 

The one saving chance was that Claire would not 
be asked first to recite. Like all Belgians, she was 
alert and sharp-witted, and quickly would catch her 
cue from whoever recited before her. Upon this 
chance I built. 

What tortures of apprehension I suffered during 
those few moments when Monsieur Fiersage, with his 
red eyebrows crinkling up into his bristling tufts of 
red hair, and his thin lips compressed in a vicious grin, 
closely scrutinized each one of us through the slits 
in his foxy lids, like a wicked executioner saying, 
“ Which one of my little band goes first to the rack? ” 
Something uneasy in my expression probably sug- 
gested that I was the most promising victim, for he 
immediately pounced upon me, and with the unctuous 
courtesy that was part of his Mephistophelian 
make-up, said in voice that was like the grating of a 
rusty door-hinge, “ May I have the pleasure of hearing 
from Mademoiselle Monroe? ” 

Glibly I rose and glibly began, Pretez-moi Vun et 
Vautre une oreille attentive/* 

Octavie, meanwhile, with an air of pretty attention 
from pupil to master, had placed before our maitre 
her “ Litterature frangaise,” with the portion of the se- 
lection we had agreed to recite, enclosed in a penciled 


4i8 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


framework so black and heavy that I could see it from 
where I stood. 

Is Mademoiselle de Beauchemin troubled with de- 
fective eyesight that she makes use of these elaborate 
decorations to mark her place ? ’’ was his ironical query, 
as he politely returned the book to Octavie and took 
up his own. 

My breath of relief was almost audible, so deep was 
it and prolonged, when, having stopped at the critical 
spot, I was permitted to sit down without comment. 

Laurice next was called. She stopped where I had 
stopped, and likewise was allowed to sit down without 
comment. The same with Octavie and Renee. 

‘‘ Mademoiselle de Miron ! ” our maitre croakingly 
clacked. 

All went smoothly until Claire approached the stop- 
ping-place, when, in my zeal lest she mistake the cue, 
I winked and scowled at her, and Octavie de Beau- 
chemin gave her dress a tug as a hint to sit down. 

Monsieur Fiersage saw us both — how, I don’t 
know, for he never lifted his eyes from his book. But 
see us he did, and, turning to Claire, he said in his 
excruciatingly polite way, ‘‘ Will Mademoiselle de 
Miron have la bonte to place herself in the center oi la 
salle, where she may finish her recitation without dis- 
turbance from certain demoiselles of the class? ” 

Claire obediently complied, and in answer to our 
professor’s impatient " Continues, mademoiselle, con- 


FATE DECIDES 


419 

tinuez ! "" she finished to the end and quietly returned 
to her place. 

We knew by the way Monsieur Fiersage readjusted 
his chin on his arms and squinted at us from his red- 
slitted eyes, that trouble was traveling our way and 
in trembling apprehension we awaited its approach. 

Having leered us into a state of abject attention, 
our tormentor unfolded his arms, leaned over the table 
the better to fix us with his needle-pointed gaze, and 
said with deliberate slowness, as he rubbed his bony 
hands together : “ Among the many methodical habits 

I formed when a young man at the universite, was that 
of marking in my text-book the lesson given to study. 
The habit was a good one. It prevented mistakes and 
guarded against a poor memory. 

I see,” he cackled with a detestable smile, as his 
leanly long fingers tenderly stroked the page before 
him, “ that I still continue this good habit formed in 
my college days. Perhaps, if the young ladies will 
look closely, they too will see a double dash at the 
bottom of the page. 

You will have to use your eyes,” he explained as 
he passed along the book for our inspection. “ The 
lines are faint. I do not make the elaborate garnish- 
ing that Mademoiselle de Beauchemin finds necessary 
to make. 

Vous me permettez, mademoiselle? ” he asked, tak- 
ing up Laurice's “ Litterature fran(;aise ” while his 


420 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


own, having silently made the tour, was silently re- 
turned to him. 

“ Aha ! ” he triumphantly chuckled. The mark- 
ings in Mademoiselle de Crevier’s book and mine cor- 
respond ! ” 

Et vous, mademoiselle? ** turning to me. 

Yes. There at the bottom of the page was the x 
sign we all used to mark where a lesson ended. Renee 
Dupont’s page showed the same incriminating mark. 

“ How is this, mademoiselle ? ” our maitre asked 
with a smile that twisted his mouth one way and his 
nose another, as Octavie’s ‘‘ Litterature frangaise,” 
with its thickly penciled framework, was passed to 
him. “ How does it happen that your markings cut 
the declamation exactly in two ? ” 

Octavie, seeing that her cause was lost, stood up, 
and, with the fearlessness that was a national char- 
acteristic, answered, That was all I studied, mon- 
sieur.” 

“You knew that I had given to the bottom of the 
page? ” 

“ Out, monsieur?* 

“ You purposely designed to deceive me? ” 

“ Oui, monsieur?* 

“ And you, Mademoiselle Dupont ? ” Monsieur 
Fiersage asked of Renee, as Octavie resumed her seat. 
“ Your reason for reciting only half of the declama- 
tion is the same as Mademoiselle de Beauchemin’s ? ” 


FATE DECIDES 


421 

" Oui, monsieur/* Renee replied with the same bold 
frankness that had distinguished her friend. 

“ And you, Mademoiselle Monroe ? ” prodded this 
tormenting man. Why did you recite but one half 
the lesson ? 

“ I wanted to do as the others did,’’ was my falter- 
ing confession. 

Thought to help out — eh ? ” our maitre, with 
abominable shrewdness, suggested. 

“ And your excuse. Mademoiselle de Crevier ? he 
turned to Laurice with an unctuous deference, as 
though implying that he held her to be of a different 
caliber from the de Beauchemin-Dupont combine. 

‘‘ The same as Mademoiselle Monroe’s,” was 
Laurice’s simple reply. 

‘‘ Why, of all the classe, is Mademoiselle de Miron 
the only one who has recited the lines as I marked 
them ? ” in a sharp nasal queried this maliciously grin- 
ning, mischievously leering maitre. 

“ I didn’t know of the change,” Claire hurried to 
explain. 

“ I forgot to tell her,” I stammered confusedly, much 
shaken to know whether the tail of the red eye fixed 
upon me with questioning intentness, squinched up it- 
self through too much comprehension, or the lack of it. 

Then the big bell of the car re rang, and we barely 
had time to gather up our books and pass out before 
the governesses in lead of the large Deuxieme Cours 


422 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


arrived, and the salle was filled with a bustling crowd 
from which we hurried to escape. 

In the grande classe the storm fizzling over our 
heads burst with a terrific clatter. 

What mattered to these peppery Beiges that Made- 
moiselle Tarent was conducting a dictee, Mees su- 
perintending une lecture anglaisef 

The blood of Jacques Van Artevelde, who, when he 
had something to say, stood up and defied kings, ran 
thick in the veins of Octavie and Renee, and nothing 
could stop their tongues from wagging when once 
started. 

As one the pair whirled themselves upon Claire be- 
fore she had a chance to defend herself, or I to ex- 
plain, and in the heated language their fierce Belgian 
tempers so splendidly rattled, denounced her as traitor, 
reptile, snake, creeping her way into the good graces 
of the powers. 

They accused her of purposely giving the whole 
recitation to get her application average over their 
heads. It was tricherie abominable to win the first 
prize. 

Claire tried to lift her voice above theirs, to make 
clear that their arrangement had been unknown to her. 
They ha-ha-ed her to scorn. They ha-ha-ed me to 
scorn when I said that all had been my fault, that I 
had carelessly forgotten to give Claire their message. 

They called me traitor, sneak, false- face, playing 


FATE DECIDES 


423 

this tricherie abominable to make sure of Claire secur- 
ing first prize. 

‘‘You are her amie intime!” they accused. 
“ Pflutt I ” 

Laurice here tried to drag me away, as though to 
prevent further compromising of my dignity with these 
spitfires. But I had ancestors who had fought in the 
American Revolution, and their blood was hot for the 
fray. 

“Traitors, sneaks, false- faces yourselves!” I 
hurled back at them. “ What chance has either of you 
two paresseuses for a first prize! What matters to 
you who wins or loses! Laches!'' 

“ It is not for ourselves that we speak ! ” Octavie 
and Renee shouted in a splendid burst of self-righteous- 
ness. “ C'est pour la justice! Madame Van Pelt 
should know the truth! Let us be punished for our 
wrongdoing ! But do not let Claire de Miron win first 
prize through a chicanerie! It would be to I'insulter 
I'honneur! " 

“ I knew nothing. I meant to do as you did, but 
Monsieur Fiersage would not permit. I was forced to 
recite to the end,” Claire tried to say. 

Her soft voice was shrieked down in guffs of scoffing 
cackles from the strong throats of Octavie and her 
chum. 

“ Come away, Cherie ! ” Laurice urged. “ Why 
argue with these furies ! ” 


424 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


I looked at Claire, as white and trembling she sat 
before her desk. She was innocent. I knew it. My 
carelessness had brought upon her this unmerited trou- 
ble. My heart swelled with pity for her. I resolved 
that these girls should hear the truth. 

Jumping on a bench, heedless of its wobbly legs and 
creaking back, I seized upon a book which I flung to 
the floor with a terrific whang to show that I was 
partie to be dealt with — for these two farouches I 
knew must be handled after their kind. 

I fixed my flashing eyes on their afraid-of-nobody 
faces lifted defiantly over the heads of the crowd that 
had gathered — for maitresses as well as deves came, 
eager to witness the scene they were powerless to pre- 
vent. 

Indeed, I’m not so sure the governesses were so anx- 
ious to stop it, for I had many times heard Mademoi- 
selle Malaise say that one good tongue-limbering quar- 
rel in the French language was worth more to an 
etrangere than a round dozen of text-book lessons. 

'' Poltronnes! ’’ I hissed from my perch on the bench. 

Shame to you to talk to a girl as you’ve been talking 
to Claire de Miron — a lovely, gentle, refined girl like 
Claire de Miron ! ” I added, my fervor growing with 
my subject. “ You have been uttering faussetes 
honteuses! Claire is innocent! Upon me the whole 
blame I Moi! moi! I stamped with angry feet and 
wild waving of angry arms. ‘‘ Blame me for all 1 I 


FATE DECIDES 


425 

never gave Claire your message! I forgot until too 
late! 

Doubt my word if you dare! ” I tossed in the bold 
face of Octavie, as I slammed a second book to the 
floor. 

*'1 am not fabricatrice! ” I jumped at the blazing- 
eyed Renee, letting drop with a smashing whack the big 
encyclopedia I held poised as though to fling at her 
head. 

'‘I’m going to be believed! You’ve got to believe 
me ! Believe me not, at your peril ! ” I thundered, as, 
no more books within reach, I made a futile attempt to 
lift a leaden ink-well from its socket. 

Juliette de Rameau, with kindly insight, passed up a 
thick ruler into my hand. 

" Cowards ! Cheats ! Busybody cats ! ” I ham- 
mered out with splendid ear-splitting clatter wherever 
I could lay on with the stick, and forthwith plunged 
into a tirade of abuse as magnificent as any ever hurled 
by Belgian tongue. 

My French was, perhaps, not ^o finished, my gram- 
matical errors not so few, but my tongue was as flexi- 
ble, and I was as fluent with " Pfisht ! ” and “ Pflutt ! ” 
and glutterings in my throat and sputterings between 
my teeth. 

" Serpents! Viper es! Crocodiles! '' I concluded in 
withering denunciation. 

And then I hopped down from the bench to find my- 


426 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


self a heroine. Belgian and British closed about to 
praise and feliciter, to grab my hand, to pat my back, to 
embrace me. 

Good for you, old girl ! ” Ailsie Dunmire enfolded 
me in a rapturous hug to say. 

“ A drubbing like that is what these foreigners need 
every good once in awhile ! ” Emily Glover approvingly 
roared in a voice that for music might have been the 
crash of a cannon-ball dropped on sheet iron. 

Believe me or not, as you please, but you’re in 
luck, Sherry darling, for your meddling not to have 
the strong arm of authority walking in upon you — 
believe me or not, as you please,” Pat belligerently con- 
gratulated in her belligerent brogue. 

Octavie and Renee, in their way, were heroines too, 
for as soon as they had calmed down they both went 
up to Claire and kissed her and said with sweet peni- 
tence, '' Je te demande pardonne, Claire.” 

And Claire sweetly forgave and forgot, after the 
kindly fashion of these soft-hearted Belgian girls. 

Octavie and Renee bore me no grudge either. I had 
been settled at my desk barely ten minutes when Oc- 
tavie reached out a long arm to drop in my lap a big 
fistful of pralines, with an ingratiating, Tiens, mon 
amie, pour toil ” 

And Renee, slipping into my hand a glubby luscious- 
ness, whispered amicably, '' Tu aimes les petits pates d 
la creme f 


FATE DECIDES 


427 


Claire came to me later. 

I thank you, Cherie, for taking my part,” she said 
with much feeling. “ It was very good, very gen- 
erous. Je te r enter cie/' 

“ I couldn’t let you be blamed for something you 
never did, Claire,” I said with offhand lightness, for it 
embarrassed me to have this simple thing made too 
much of. 

But Claire kept repeating, “ It was very good, very 
kind, very generous.” And as she turned away, as 
once before, I saw tears glistening in her eyes. 

Poor Claire! If only I could have cared for her! 

“ Well, Cherie,” Laurice said that evening as she 
stole into my chambrette for a good-night chat. 
“ That little contretemps with Monsieur Fiersage this 
afternoon has settled the first prize.” 

‘‘ Pm afraid it has,” I ruefully admitted. A trifle 
like that is just sufficient to tip the scale in Claire’s 
favor.” 

‘‘ To t^ll the truth. I’m glad of it ! ” Laurice warmly 
asserted. 

To which I returned an equally warm, “To tell the 
truth, I’m not! ” 


CHAPTER XXXII 


LA GRANDE DISTRIBUTION 

O UR last days brimmed over with glorious excite- 
ments. Text-books were cleaned and put away 
for a long rest, trunks were packed, and as the 
days, scratched off our calendars with a glee so tri- 
umphant, dwindled to hours, all day long our ears were 
filled with the music of luggage, as the Britishers called 
baggage, bumped down the spiral stairway by the 
snickering Leontine and the giggling Trinette, for de- 
livery to the expressmen. 

Professors of piano, song, and declamation came 
with delightful irregularity. The whole place buzzed 
and rumbled with the din of rehearsals, discipline was 
relaxed, and, joy most entrancing of all, each ring of 
the front-door bell brought somebody’s festive gown, 
until the dormitories looked like huge snowdnfts. 

Lovely things, too, were happening as the closing 
of this final term approached. And what happened to 
me seemed the loveliest. 

Elizabeth — I shall make no attempt to write her 
long and impossible-to-be-spelled Russian princess 
name — was coming to la Distribution! And the last 
letter that told the great news contained a warm in- 
428 


LA GRANDE DISTRIBUTION 429 

vitation to Tad and me to visit her in her beautiful 
Russian home ; and a letter from Katherine, now some 
months married to a handsome young English rector, 
begged from us a promise to stay a while with her in 
what she called the most heavenly ideal of a real ivy- 
covered English rectory. 

But the big ship that brought Tad and me from 
America was sailing back the day after school closed, 
and we, with Mademoiselle Touchard, were going to 
sail back in her. 

But we were to return, for there were little sisters at 
home to be educated, and Tad and I had taken it upon 
ourselves to decide that the responsibility of this 
should be intrusted to nobody but Madame Van Pelt. 

A happy surprise was the arrival from India of the 
Wilcoxes* father, and he and their mother, with a 
certain small sister, were all coming to la Distribution. 

“Papa’s just crazy about me!” Roberta informed 
us with a conceited twist of her handsome red lips. 
“ He thinks lots, too, of Louise. But I’m his idol. 
He calls me his son. Isn’t that splendid ! 

“ An immense ballroom and forty more bedrooms 
are being added to Chiltonhurst Manor,” Roberta con- 
tinued to gloriously brag. “ There are to be apart- 
ments for royalty too, and ” — 

But here Miss Roberta was ingloriously snipped off 
by sister Lou quietly humming, “ Jumped into a bram- 
ble bush and scratched out both his eyes ! ” 


430 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


The wonder surprise was the news that Suky Sikes* 
mysterious bachelor uncle turned out to be one of Eng- 
land’s great statesmen, and that he was going out to 
hold some high official position in India, and that Suky 
was going with him to be the lady-in-chief of his 
household. 

Suky, the burden-bearer, the shift-back, the fag, the 
neglected, the reviled — to be almost a queen ! It was 
unbelievable! Good reason now to rejoice that Suky 
carried her angular length with so much grace and 
spoke French with a fluency so exquisite. 

And then what do you think? What do you think? 
Juliette de Rameau, the pretty, untidy, hoyden little 
niece of the duchess, went out one fine morning in a 
shabby, absurdly short frock of ma coiisine Em- 
meline^* and came back the next in a toilette, of an 
elegance not to be described, that made her look 
strangely grown-up and imparted a dignity and dis- 
tinction truly miraculous. 

So changed in a few hours by beautiful and becom- 
ing clothes was our little et our die of the grande classe, 
that we approached her with awe and hesitated to ad- 
dress her on intimate terms. 

Je suis dancee, mes amies! Juliette announced 
with a grandeur that made me fully realize that Made- 
moiselle de Rameau was the daughter of a rich and 
noble house. 

“ The betrothal took place yesterday at a luncheon 


LA GRANDE DISTRIBUTION 431 

given by my aunt the duchess. So charming and 
handsome a young man is Emil! He is ami intime 
with the cousin of the husband of ma cousine Em~ 
meline. He goes with a party of scientists on an ex- 
pedition to Alaska. II est jeune homme bien serieux, 
mon Emil. There will be no wedding until I have fin- 
ished my course at the pensionnat.’’ 

Next day we had Juliette back in the short and 
shabby frock of ma cousine Emmeline , frolicking 
about as though never had taken place so important a 
thing as a betrothal to a handsome and charming young 
man. 

The Britishers these last days conferred a great 
honor upon Tad by making her their poet laureate. 

This was in grateful recognition of the many serv- 
ices she had rendered them in the poetry line by com- 
posing greetings for birthdays and holidays and auto- 
graph albums. 

Tad was properly installed as laureate at a supper 
of tea and toast and orange marmalade in the salle de 
professeur. She wasn’t in the least bit conceited about 
being made so much of, but to show her appreciation 
she wrote in each Britisher’s album an original verse 
signed ‘‘ Adelaide Louise Monroe, Poet Laureate.” 

Our last dinner was a riot of fun. We threw bread- 
balls with fast and furious abandon. We made shrill 
music by running wet fingers round the rims of our 
drinking-glasses, we let ourselves tumble off the queer 


432 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


little chairs with a clatter that was deliciously terrify- 
ing, and did everything that was crazy, noisy, and for- 
bidden. 

The one solemn moment of this dinner was the read- 
ing of the averages. No names were given, only the 
averages that had won prizes; the reason for this was 
to prevent confusion at la Distribution, and it was 
our privilege to take this opportunity to settle all ques- 
tionable points. 

Madame Van Pelt, when she reached the first prize 
of the Premier Cours for literature and composition, 
laid down her book with the remark that she here had 
an important explanation to make. 

“ The contest for this prize has been very close,” 
she said. It lies between two jeunes iilles, both of 
marked ability and equal application. The difficulty 
of selecting the first winner has been great. Monsieur' 
Fiersage and I, however, have decided in a way that I 
think will be satisfactory to all. 

“ I am not privileged to speak further on this sub- 
ject,” she added with a playful smile. ‘‘ Your pro- 
fessor and I have agreed to keep our decision as a 
little surprise for you to-morrow.” 

This speech of Madame Van Pelt’s inflamed to 
white heat the interest and curiosity attached to that 
much-contested prize, and we girls talked of little else 
the remainder of the evening but the possible outcome 
of that mysterious decision. 


LA GRANDE DISTRIBUTION 433 

‘‘ You can do as you like, I don’t care, but I think 
it’s awfully silly to make such a lot of fuss about two 
old prizes. I’ve got it written right down here in my 
journal who’s going to get that gold medal,” squeaked 
Minty Maxwell, serenely unmoved by Emily Glover’s 
rude, ‘‘ Ah pump ! ” 

“ Madame Van Pelt said the decision would be sat- 
isfactory to all. Putting Claire de Miron first and 
you last I know won’t be satisfactory to all!” were 
my good-night words to Laurice. 

And how about leaving you out being satisfactory 
to allt” Laurice laughed with a glance so coyly be- 
witching that I had to look a second time to convince 
myself that this merry creature was the Laurice who 
once so sadly smiled and laughed happily — never ! 

Oh, that never-to-be-forgotten day of la Grande 
Distribution! How lovely it all was — the perfect 
midsummer weather, the grand salon rouge packed 
with smiling fathers and mothers and uncles and aunts 
and friends and relations (all except big brothers and 
male cousins), the professors moving solemnly about 
in swallowtails and white gloves, and we girls, trem- 
ulously fluttering, and looking, in our gowns of white 
organdie with blue ribbons, like a great bed of lilies 
and forget-me-nots, seated on tabourets before the 
wide door-spaces of the salons and awaiting events! 

Everything breathed the momentous occasion — the 
flowers, the colors, the shining Erards, exuding a fra- 


434 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


grance like moist lilies as they stood at expectant an- 
gles before the expectant audience. 

Even the slow waving of the trees of the burgomas- 
ter's garden seemed to blend with the slow waving of 
the ladies’ fans in the salons, as though nature her- 
self was part of the joyous scene. 

I could see godmother from where I sat, handsomely 
imposing, and Elizabeth, graciously beautiful and 
smiling as when a schoolgirl, yet looking every inch 
the princess she was. 

My head was in such a whirl of excitement that to 
me the concert that preceded the distribution of prizes 
was only a dizzy confusion of sights and sounds. 

I had a dim sense of seeing white-robed girls with 
serious faces moving from and to their places, of hear- 
ing the pianos thundering in familiar accords, of girl- 
ish voices rising and falling in familiar songs and reci- 
tations. 

Claire de Miron, with the clear-cut precision of a 
music-box, rippled off a brilliant transcription, and 
Laurice brought glory on herself by her exquisite ren- 
dition of the ‘‘ Esther ” selection she had missed at 
the carnival. 

Then the pianos were pushed away and into the 
grand salon four strapping maid-servants came stag- 
gering under the weight of a table loaded with gayly 
colored books. 


LA GRANDE DISTRIBUTION 435 

These were the awards of merit that made la Grande 
Distribution an occasion so thrilling. 

The lower classes were first disposed of, and end- 
less to my nervous impatience seemed the long, slow- 
moving line of girls passing and repassing in response 
to the calls of prizes, accessits, and honorable mentions. 

How my sister Tad got so many of these was a 
puzzler. 

At last I heard the clear voice of Madame Van Pelt 
lift itself in emphasis to be heard by all: Pre- 

mier Cours Litterature et Redaction! First prize 
awarded ” — 

Here she paused, as though to prepare us for what 
was to follow, and an impulse I could not control 
caused me to throw a swift glance in the direction of 
Claire de Miron. 

She was sitting in the front row, directly facing the 
doorway that looked into the salon rouge, and her 
head was turned so that I had a clear view of her pro- 
file. It was deathly pale, her blue eyes looked green- 
ish, and her lips were pressed together in a way that 
made them unpleasantly thin and white. 

But quickly as I looked the expression was gone, and 
she was smiling and applauding like everybody else. 

‘‘ The competition for this prize has been keen and 
close,” the smooth voice of Madame Van Pelt again 
was speaking. ‘‘ It is awarded to — ” 


436 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


But between the tumultuous beating of my heart, 
the wild pounding in my ears, and the stir of the peo- 
ple bending forward to listen, I lost what followed. 
But I saw Monsieur Fiersage, upon whom the honor 
of this presentation always fell, get to his feet and 
move to the front. 

I was afraid to look, or even to listen, until I was 
roused by a furious clamor of applause, and, looking 
up, my heart gave a thump of joy to see Laurice, eyes 
shining, cheeks suffused with color, coming toward the 
salon gris. 

A wreath of white roses crowned her dark hair, and 
upon the lace of her white bodice gleamed a shining 
gold medal. 

Just a pace behind came Claire de Miron. Roses 
crowned her blonde braids, and upon her bosom I 
caught the glint of gold. 

This was our surprise. The honors of the first 
prize had been shared equally between Laurice and 
Claire! Madame Van Pelt had said truly. The de- 
cision was satisfactory to all. 

The people were applauding vociferously, and as I 
turned to smile my congratulations to Laurice an au- 
thoritative Hush, Monsieur Fiersage is speaking!” 
abruptly stopped the acclamations, and in the silence 
that followed I heard the voice of the maitre de littera- 
ture drawl : “ With the kind permission of our bonne 

directrice, Madame Marie Van Pelt, I have been ac- 


LA GRANDE DISTRIBUTION 437 

corded the privilege and pleasure of making a slight 
innovation in the distribution of prizes this year. 

“ The Premier Cours has no second prize of littera- 
ture to offer — for reasons not appropriate to men- 
tion on this happy occasion/’ he added with a fine smile 
that caused Octavie and Renee to cringe behind their 
neighbors’ backs. ‘‘ But,” he gayly continued, “ in 
recognition of a certain pupil, whose talents and edify- 
ing application entitle her to distinction, but who, un- 
fortunately, entered the class too late to compete with 
the other concurrentes, I have the honor personally to 
present this volume.” 

In a stupid bewilderment I heard, without compre- 
hending, the name that followed this startling an- 
nouncement, and sat on unmoved until a sharp thump 
on the back aroused me to realities. 

“ It’s you, Cherie ! Quick ! Go get your prize ! ” 
I heard Ailsie excitedly whisper. 

I was pulled to my feet and pushed forward by eager 
hands. I saw rows of white-robed, blue-ribboned 
figures before me sway back to make passage as I 
moved along. I found myself in the salon rouge with 
Monsieur Fiersage’s wrinkled face crinkling into a 
network of kindly smiles, as with an elaborate bow he 
placed in my hand a heavy and richly bound book. 

I think I remembered to thank him. I must have 
thanked him, for I recall the sharp pressure of his 
bony hand and my embarrassment as he exclaimed 


438 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


loud enough for everybody to hear : II n'y a pas de 

quoi, mademoiselle, Vous avez ete eleve bonne et 
reconnaissante. Je vous remerci/^ 

Then my ears buzzed with the clapping of hands, 
and in great confusion I somehow got back to my 
place in the salon gris, and, hiding myself behind the 
backs of the girls in front, I buried my face in my 
handkerchief and cried from the wonder and joy of 
the beautiful thing that had come to me. 

“Ai-ai-ai! Quel beau livre!'' my Belgian com- 
panions exclaimed, who, while wiping the tears from 
my cheeks and condoling with my emotions, were 
busily examining the book that lay in my lap. 

‘‘ The plays of Racine ! ‘ Athalie ’ and ‘ Esther ’ ! ’’ 

they admiringly enthused. “And see what a lovely 
binding! So soft, so rich, yet so simple! And see 
what is written inside in our maitre’s own handwrit- 
ing!" 

“ ‘ To a pupil,^ I heard them read, ‘ who unites a 
commendable application with a just appreciation of 
the noble art of writing, this volume is presented with 
the best wishes of her teacher and friend, Alphonse 
Fiersage.* " 

I had to dry my eyes to see these wonderful words 
for myself, but I could not look just then, for Madame 
Van Pelt was making her good-by speech to her 
cheres eleves and thanking them for the credit they 
had done her and themselves this day. 


LA GRANDE DISTRIBUTION 439 

The last tremulous Adieu, mes enfants!^^ was 
said, the tender-hearted mothers in the audience 
sniffling and wiping their eyes in sympathy. The com- 
pany rose, and we girls crowded into the salon rouge 
to bid good-by to our teachers and thank them for their 
patient instruction during the past year. 

La Grande Distribution was over ! 

I saw the Wilcoxes^ lady mother and their splendid 
soldier father, who had long flowing side-whiskers the 
color of Roberta’s rippling auburn hair, and who was 
smiling with equal pride and affection upon the mild- 
faced Louise with her one little book, and the hand- 
some Roberta strutting about with arms full of gayly 
bound trophies. 

And I saw Suky Sikes, in silken attire and hair 
curled ^ la mode, drive off with her famous statesman 
uncle, to take the next steamer for India, where in 
time she blossomed into something wonderfully differ- 
ent from the Suky of the Pensionnat Van Pelt. 

Then came Elizabeth with lovely smiles and gra- 
cious words, to greet and congratulate. She and I al- 
ready had had a long happy day together and many 
happy talks. But this was the first time since her re- 
turn that she and Claire had met. 

Claire was standing beside her little Flemish mother 
into whose arms she was passing the heap of gay books 
received as reward for her successful year of study. 
She still wore the wreath of white roses, and looked 


440 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


unusually pretty, with a soft glow of triumph in her 
cheeks and in her blue eyes the subdued light of com- 
ing happiness. 

Elizabeth went straight to her, and, with every 
shadow of the old hurt gone, warmly clasped her hand, 
and Claire, glad too perhaps to forget, as warmly re- 
turned the pressure. 

'' Mes felicitations, Claire,” Elizabeth leaned close 
to whisper, her own beautiful eyes, as she spoke, ra- 
diant as stars. 

Merci, Elizabeth,” Claire softly returned. 

Then Elizabeth went, and about me swarmed the 
Belgians — Octavie, Renee, Juliette, Lili, Charlotte, 
and Maries and Jeannes to smother one. 

And the big-hearted, emotional things embraced me 
and wept over me and implored me to write to them 
and never to forget them, and with difficulty tore 
themselves away. The next moment I heard the lot 
of them trooping down the front stairs, giggling and 
chattering over the anticipated delights of their long 
holiday, with a glee that showed already I was for- 
gotten. 

Then I said to Laurice, who was with her god- 
mother, I am going to say good-by to Claire.” 

I found her in the dormitory of the little girls, where 
she had just finished dressing Ghislaine and sent her 
away to her mother. She still wore her white dress 
and the pretty wreath and looked strangely quiet and 


LA GRANDE DISTRIBUTION 441 

subdued, as though already touched by the responsi- 
bilities of the new life before her. 

‘‘ I have come to bid you good-by, Claire. I sail 
home to-morrow,’*" I said quite simply. 

The delicate lace at Claire’s throat rose and fell 
with the throbbing of her heart, and she spoke pant- 
ingly, as though her breath came hard. 

‘‘ I want you to know,” she said, '' that I always 
cared for you, Cherie. I did not care for Elizabeth 
Gardner. I wanted you for my friend. And when 
Laurice de Crevier came, you hurt me. You were al- 
ways saying and doing things to hurt me. That was 
why I wanted to hurt you back. But I always cared, 
Cherie.” 

I was dumb before Claire’s meek confession. I had 
not been wholly guiltless. As I lifted shamed eyes I 
saw through the sheerness of her muslin bodice the 
pale outlines of a narrow blue ribbon. 

I will take it now, Claire, — the ring, — if you care 
to give it,” I said humbly. 

She unfastened it from her neck, and passed it, 
ribbon and all, into my hand with a quiet, '' It will help 
you to remember.” 

It will help me to remember,” I softly repeated. 

Good-by, Cherie ! ” 

** Good-by, Claire ! ” 

And so we kissed and parted. 

Next morning Tad and I, stylish and proud in new 


442 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


traveling costumes of Frenchiest pattern, stood ready 
to go. Our ship sailed from Antwerp at noon. At 
9 :30 sharp the carriage arrived at the pensionnat door, 
where the governesses, maids, and the few Britishers 
who later would take the paquet for home gathered 
to see us off. 

Good-by to the schoolmates with whom for so many 
months we had shared sorrows and joys. Good-by 
to big, stanch-hearted Emily, whom I sincerely liked, 
for all her browbeating; and to blustering Irish Pat 
Mack, going home to be governess to the children of 
a widowed duke, — and to marry him in the end, we 
all predicted; and to doleful Minty, for once not writ- 
ing in her journal or telling us strings showed or petti- 
coats draggled; and to my loyal little Scotch Ailsie in 
cap and cloak of checkerboard black and white, and her 
pretty hair tumbled about apple-cheeks puffed into her 
pretty eyes with crying! 

Good-by patient, faithful, much-enduring teachers 
• — red-shawled Siddonesque “ Mees,” against whose 
trusting soul we had so repeatedly sinned; peppery 
Georgine Malaise, to whose sharp tongue and excitable 
French temper I owed many a grudge, long since 
wiped out in the remembrance of the trials I and my 
high-spirited mates must have been to her ; and poor, 
wheezy, sneezy little pink-nosed Fraulein Zipp, whom 
we bullied and harried into yet more abject meekness! 

A big hug and a long kiss to my dear Lucie Tarent, 





ir RE VOIR!" 


Faye 444 











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LA GRANDE DISTRIBUTION 443 

kind maitresse de Troisieme Cours, who slipped into 
my hand, en souvenir of the time when she was my 
devoted teacher and I her devoted eleve, a quaint por- 
trait of herself as a girl in the good old town of 
Liege, with a string of beads encircling her fat neck 
and a long curl dangling from each side of a big wa- 
terfall ! 

Adieu pour toujours aggravating Old Prowler, with 
your keys, your scoldings, and your villainous the aux 
quatre saisons! 

A friendly nod to the grinning Leontine, to the 
sniffling Trinette, and the rest of their short-skirted, 
wooden-shod mates, standing lowly in the background 
to wish us bon voyage. 

A wave to the fat old Walloon cook peering weep- 
ingly through the grated window of the kitchen, at 
whose back areaway she so often surreptitiously 
passed to us handsomely buttered tartines! 

Good-by to this dear old foreign school, whose 
white, iron-shuttered front, as we drove away, I saw 
through a mist of blinding tears. 

Good-by to beautiful Brussels, its shining-white 
streets, its splendid tree-belted avenues, its gay sights, 
its merry, kindly hearted people. 

Good-by to happy Claire, to lovely Elizabeth, to 
little Tania in her lonely grave! Good-by to every- 
body and to everything! Good-by! Good-by! 
Good-by ! 


444 


SCHOOLGIRL ALLIES 


But to mon amie, to Laurice, who with Madame 
Van Pelt stood on the docks of Antwerp to watch our 
big ship swing out to the sea whose other shore was 
home, I said* 


REVOIR!^* 


JEAN CABOT SERIES 

By GERTRUDE FISHER SCOTT 

Illustrated by Arthur O. Scott 12mo Cloth 

Price, Net, $1.25 each 


JEAN CABOT AT ASHTON 

TLIERE is the “real thing” in a girl’s 
^ college story. Older authors can inven. 
situations and supply excellently written 
general delineations of character, but all 
lack the vital touch of this work of a bright 
young recent graduate of a well-known 
college for women, who has lost none of the 
enthusiasm felt as a student. Every activity 
of a popular girl’s first year is woven into a 
narrative, photographic in its description of 
a life that calls into play most attractive 
qualities, while at the same time severely 
testing both character and ability. 

JEAN CABOT IN THE BRITISH ISLES 

T his is a college story, although dealing with a summer vacation, 
and full of college spirit. It begins with a Yale-Harvard boat 
race at New London, but soon Jean and her room-mate sail for Great 
Britain under the chaperonage of Miss Hooper, a favorite member of the 
faculty at Ashton College. Their trip is full of the delight that comes 
to the traveler first seeing the countries forming “our old home,” 

JEAN CABOT IN CAP AND GOWN 

J EAN CABOT is a superb young woman, physically and mentally, 
but thoroughly human and thus favored with many warm friend- 
ships. Her final year at Ashton College is the culmination of a 
course in which study, sport and exercise, and social matters have 
been well balanced. 

JEAN CABOT AT THE HOUSE WITH 
THE BLUE SHUTTERS 

S UCH a group as Jean and her most intimate friends could not 
scatter at once, as do most college companions after graduation, 
and six of them under the chaperonage of a married older graduate 
and member of the same sorority spend a most eventful summer in a 
historic farm-house in Maine. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt 
of price by the publishers 

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. Boston 



fO^JEAN 

/f^^CABOT 

A 

QAik^HTON 

\ \ GERTRUDE 

1 \ FISHER 

1 SCOTT 

I 

















DOROTHY BROWN 

By NINA RHOADES 

Illustrated by Elizabeth Withington Large 12mo 
Cloth $1.35 

HTHIS is considerably longer than the othei 
t books by this favorite writer, and with a 
more elaborate plot, but it has the same win- 
some quality throughout. It introduces the 
heroine in New York as a little girl of eight, 
but soon passes over six years and finds her at 
a select family boarding school in Connecticut. 
An fmportant part of the story also takes place 
i at the Profile House in the White Mountains. 
The charm of school-girl friendship is finely 
brought out, and the kindness of heart, good 
sense and good taste which find constant ex- 
pression in the books by Miss Rhoades do not 
lack for characters to show these best of 
qualities by their lives. Other less admirable 
persons of course appear to furnish the alluring mystery, which is not 
all cleared up until the very last. 

“There will be no better book than this to put into the hands of a p-irl in 
her teens and none that will be better appreciated by ’her.”— Kennebec Journal 



MARION’S VACATION 

By NINA RHOADES 


Illustrated by Bertha Q. Davidson 
■^HIS book is for the older girls, Marion 
being thirteen. She has for ten years 
enjoyed a luxurious home in New York tvith 
the kind lady who feels that the time has now 
come for this aristocratic though lovalile little 
miss to know her own nearest kindred, w'bo 
are humble but most excellent farming people 
in a pretty Vermont village. Thither Marion 
is sent for a summer, which proves to be a 
most important one to her in all its lessons. 

“ More wholesome reading for half grown girls 
it would be hard to find ; some of the same lessons 
that proved so helpful in that claosic of the last 
generation ‘An Old Fashioned Girl* are brought 
home to the youthful readers of this sweet and 
sensible story .’* — Milwaukee Free Press, 


12mo $1.25 net 



For sale by all booksellers^ or sent postpaid on receipt of 
price by the publishers 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.. Boston 


BRAVE HEART SERES 

By Adcle E. Thompson 
Illustrated 121110 Cloth iVi?/ ^1.25 each 

Betty Seldon, Patriot 

A BOOK that is at the same time fascinating and noble. Historical 
events are accurately traced leading up to the surrender cf Corn- 
wallis at Yorktotvn. with reunion and hapoiness for all who deserve 

Brave Heart Elizabeth 

TT is a story of the making of the Ohio Irontier, much ci :t raker? from 
A life, and the Heroine one of the famous Zane family after which 2 ^nes* 
ville, O., takes its name. An accurate, pleasing, and yet at ti'ines intense’]; 
thrilling picture of the stirring period of border settlement. 

A Lassie of the Isles 

'THIS is.the romantic story of Flora Macdonald, the lassie of Skye, wb-? 
^ aided in the escape of Charles Stuart, otherwise known as the 
“Young Pretender,** 

Polly of the Pines 

^HE events of the story occur in the years 1775-82- Polly was an 
A orphan living with her mother’s family, who were Scotch High- 
landers, and for the most part intensely loyal to the Crown. Polly finds 
the glamor of royal adherence hard to resist, but her heart turns towards 
the patriots and she does much to aid and encourage them. 


American Patty 

A Story of 1813 

TDATTY is a brave, winsome girl of sixteen 
A whose family have settled across the Cana- 
dian border and are living in peace and 
prosperity, and on the best of terms with the 
neighbors and friendly Indians. All this is 
suddenly and entirely changed by the breaking 
out of war, and unwillingness on the part of 
her father and brother to serve against their 
Dative land brings distress and deadly perib 

mi t ■ ■ ■ i r ■ i. 

Fc*' sale by all bocksellers^ cr sent postpaid on receipt 
of price by the publishers 

L.OTHPOP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. BOSTON 



Makers of England Series 

MARCH TAPPAN, Ph.D. 

T^R. TAPP AN’S historical works hare 
already become classics for the yoong, 
and well do they deserve it, with their enter- 
ta ning descriptions, perfect English, and 
hu.toncal value. Such books are the beet 
thi.t can be placed in the hands of children ; 
and the fact that while being instructive there 
is never a duP line is the highest comoMn* 
dation that can be offered. 

In the Days of Alfred the Great 

Cloth Fully illustrated 

In the Days of William the Conqueror 

Cloth Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy 

In the Days of Queen Elizabeth 

Cloth Illustrated from famous paintings 

(n the Days of Queen Victoria 

Cloth Illustrated from paintings and photographs 

M ISS TAPPAN reads her authorities 
intelligently and selects her material 
wisely, always having her young audience well 
in mind. She has a clear idea of the require- 
ments for interesting and stimulating young 
readers, and arousing in them a desire for fur- 
ther research. The entire series are admir- 
ably adapted to this end, and are warmly 
recommended to the attention of parents, 
teachers, and librarians. — ** Philad$l~ 

i^kias, Pa, 



By EVA 



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